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 SIB PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK
 
 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 BY 
 
 L. B. WALFOED 
 
 AUTHOR Ol' " LIB. billTH," " THE BABY'b GIlANDilOTHEB, " •' THE 
 AllCHDEACOX," ETC., ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 LONGMANS, GKEEN & CO. 
 
 1899
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. " I HATE UGLY MEN " .... 1 
 
 II. PLAYFUL SELINA 20 
 
 III. "it's a damned lie" .... 44 
 
 IV. hobson's choice .... 76 
 
 V. " SOPHY — MY NIECE, MISS HAEBOROUGH " . 107 
 
 VI. A MEETING IN THE WILDS . . . 131 
 
 VII. A WHITE PARASOL 154 
 
 VIII. ' BOBBY ' APPEARS UPON THE SCENE . 185 
 IX. "WHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" . 211 
 
 X. "DID HE SAY IT WAS IMPUDENT?" . 239 
 
 XI. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE .... 258 
 
 XII. CONCLUSION 282
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 "I HATE UGLY MEN" 
 
 " T DON'T care if he is ' Sir Patrick '—or ' Lord 
 Patrick ' or ' Duke Patrick.' He's just 
 'The Puddock,' and every one calls him so. I 
 hate ugly men." 
 
 Mrs. Jonathan Mercer looked at her young 
 visitor. "You do?" said she, drily. 
 
 " I do. Of course I do. Every one does." 
 
 " Indeed? " said Mrs. Mercer, still more drily. 
 She would have liked to shake the girl. As any 
 one would. It is almost certain that any twelve 
 impartial jurymen adjudicating upon the scene, 
 would have given it as their unanimous verdict 
 that Miss Sophia Gill deserved a shaking, if 
 nothing more. 
 
 She to hate ugly men ! There was something 
 pathetically ludicrous in the idea, if there had 
 
 2
 
 2 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 not been something else,— but to tell the truth, 
 this something else stood between the older lady 
 and any sense of humour : her kindly nature was 
 as much roused to ire as it was possible for it 
 to be. 
 
 " Ton my word ! " cried she, to herself. Then 
 with deepened emphasis : " 'Poji my word ! " 
 
 If only she could have spoken out, — but how is 
 it possible to tell a young girl to her face that 
 it ill becomes her to set such store by personal 
 appearance, when ever so slight an accentuation 
 of the pronoun conveys an intimation not to 
 be misinterpreted ? She could not do it ; of 
 course she could not do it : both as friend, 
 hostess, and a human fellow-creature her tongue 
 was tied, though flushed cheeks and compressed 
 lips betrayed fast and furious utterances within. 
 
 " Hates ugly men, does she? And what if they 
 return the compliment ? Two can play at that 
 game. . . . Ugly men? What about ugly women? 
 And I that thought poor plain Sophy Gill would 
 be thankful of anybody, and was ready to jump 
 out of my skin when it seemed as if Sir Patrick 
 were going to take to her ! Little did I dream — 
 I thought it would be only kind to give her the 
 hint. Hates ugly men ? And pray who is she
 
 "I HATE UGLY MEN" 3 
 
 to pick and choose? I suppose she thinks she 
 has the world at her feet ! ' ' — drumming with 
 heavily-ringed fingers on the table. 
 
 She was by far the more excited of the two. 
 Indeed, after the first outbreak, delivered more 
 pettishly than passionately, Miss Sophy cooled 
 down ; and remembering something she had to 
 do upstairs, presently left the room without any 
 attempt to renew the conversation. 
 
 Mrs. Mercer's eyes followed her, and now her 
 lips were partially unsealed; so that though she 
 did not actually speak aloud, her wrathful rumina- 
 tions found vent in broken murmurs and ejacu- 
 lations. 
 
 " There she goes ! A bounce and a bang. No 
 style, no figure. Can't even walk well. Lolls 
 at the dinner table. Crosses her legs whenever 
 she gets the chance. I've had to speak to her 
 about all these things ; and poor girl," relenting 
 somewhat, " she has tried to do better. And 
 she did take it well ; I must say that for her. 
 She was improving every day. But who would 
 ever have dreamed of her not seeing that at the 
 best she's only a bouncing, good-natured girl? 
 And men don't marry as they used to do. And 
 even if they are on the look-out for a wife,
 
 4 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Sophy has nothing to — she's not likely to be 
 picked out. Hates ugly men, indeed ! " 
 
 It was an unfortunate phrase ; one more un- 
 fortunate could hardly have been selected. Mrs. 
 Mercer had been a beauty in her youth, and 
 swains by the score had sighed at her feet ; but 
 she felt that she would never have given utterance 
 to such an assertion, even before she accepted 
 honest Jonathan, whom perhaps she might not 
 have thought about had he not been what he 
 was, but with whom she had lived very happily 
 for well nigh fifty years. 
 
 " If I could do it ! " thought she now, drawing 
 up her long neck ; " and a better husband no 
 woman ever had. Miss Sophy Gill would have 
 turned up her nose at him, I daresay ; " again 
 a lambent flame lit up the fine old eyes, and 
 they wandered involuntarily towards an opposite 
 mirror, fastening their gaze slowly and piercingly 
 upon themselves. Their owner was thinking of 
 a pair of colourless orbs, full, and slightly pro- 
 truding : " the Gill eyes," she was wont to call 
 them. 
 
 " Whom does she expect to get, I wonder ? " 
 
 A pause, and then : "I wonder if it was a 
 mistake to bring Sophy?" cogitated her patroness,
 
 "I HATE UGLY MEN" 5 
 
 slowing down as it were. "If it has put ideas 
 into her head, I shall never forgive myself. She 
 seemed humble enough, and modest enough, 
 when she first came. This big place, and our 
 treating her just as if she were our own daughter, 
 may have turned her head? And yet I can't 
 say I should have thought so. Even people who 
 asked about her, and saw her settled here as if 
 it were her home — as it is, for the time — all 
 thought it a good idea. Comfortable for us, and 
 a great thing for Sophy. She has been as useful, 
 and handy, and obliging as possible. Always 
 cheerful and pleasant, too. Always ready to do 
 whatever was wanted ; never a sour look have 
 I had till to-day. Even to-day she only said 
 what was in her mind, I suppose. She did not 
 say it to annoy me. But, mercy on us, that it 
 should have been in her mind ! That's what I 
 can't get over. The — the impudence of it. Poor 
 Sophy ! " 
 
 Poor Sophy ! The deep-seated, ingrained con- 
 tempt of the last words would have pierced the 
 thickest skin ; and with all her benevolence, and 
 all her indulgence, it expressed to a hair's breadth 
 the real state of Mrs. Mercer's feelings towards 
 her yonng protegee.
 
 6 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 She would do everything for the girl — but she 
 thought nothing of her. She had the utmost 
 goodwill, it was almost tantamount to affection 
 for " the poor thing," — but she never saw Sophy 
 in a new hat or frock, never heard her strumming 
 on the piano, nor witnessed her attempts at 
 dancing a reel without mentally ejaculating ' The 
 poor thing ! ' 
 
 Sophy, au natural, would indeed pass muster 
 without remark. Mrs. Mercer, to do her justice, 
 was never on the lookout for shortcomings ; but 
 it was when, with the spirits of youth, the big, 
 floundering girl threw herself into whatever was 
 going on, and rollicked unconscious of any be- 
 littling eyes, that the old lady would mutter to 
 herself. 
 
 And she had been wont to think it rather 
 touching and very nice of Sophy to be so un- 
 conscious. "She is just as happy as if she were 
 the greatest beauty of the land," she would say; 
 taking it for granted that it was not ignorance 
 of but submission to recognised inferiority which 
 induced the happiness. 
 
 " Well, well, well ! " 
 
 We must now leave the perplexed, and dis- 
 appointed, not to say disgusted, dame to her
 
 "I HATE UGLY MEN" 7 
 
 musings, and go back a few weeks, in order that 
 our readers may understand the situation. 
 
 Mr. Jonathan Mercer was perhaps not quite 
 a millionaire, but he was generally thought and 
 called one. He was at all events a very rich 
 man, and could afford to live anywhere and 
 everywhere on a very large scale. 
 
 For some years past he had been building a 
 palace in the West Highlands of Scotland, and 
 it had only been completed a few months before 
 our story opens. Previous to that he had rented 
 houses with moors attached, during the months 
 when moors are in fashion. Such at least was 
 the remark of one derisive sportsman, who would 
 have preferred, naturally, his host's renting moors 
 with house, hut, or any sort of roofed habitation 
 thrown in. 
 
 This, however, would not have suited our 
 friend. He liked comfort, as did his wife. The 
 couple were childless, and found resource in 
 luxurious surroundings, which had become 
 through long experience a necessity. Accord- 
 ingly they had " gone in for big houses, and 
 let the moor rip " — according to Jack Marks- 
 man. 
 
 And still the big houses were not what they
 
 8 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 should have been ; they were inconvenient, ill- 
 lighted, even dilapidated — as houses rented by 
 millionaires are sure to be. The billiard -room 
 would be shockingly small ; the smoking-room 
 draughty ; the servants' hall a constant bone of 
 contention. " We don't mind, it's the poor 
 servants ; " Mrs. Mercer would continually affirm, 
 being a slave, of course, to her fat butler and 
 dyspeptic housekeeper. 
 
 And there was always the worry of being at 
 a distance from butcher and grocer, and the 
 endless sending to and fro when trains and 
 steamboats had to be met. " One would think 
 they tried to fmd the furthest place they could 
 from anything and anybody, and then build upon 
 it ! " — cried the poor distracted woman at last, 
 while Jonathan nodded assent. 
 
 The post was his grievance. He could never 
 get a second post without sending for it ; often 
 he could not get it at all. 
 
 And at length they could stand it no longer, 
 and the thought arose : Why not build for 
 themselves ? 
 
 "And then we can make it comfortable, 
 Jonathan." 
 
 "It can at least be water-tight," said he.
 
 "I HATE UGLY MEN" 9 
 
 There had been a drip in the passage at his 
 last place. 
 
 " Do let us be near the village, Jonathan." 
 
 " Aye, aye ! and the post-office." 
 
 " And the church." 
 
 "And the station. But no," said Jonathan, 
 suddenly, " we'll not bother about stations. We'll 
 build by the water side, and have our own yacht 
 — a steam yacht — and go and come when we 
 hke." 
 
 In a single afternoon the two had planned it 
 all, and only wondered what they had been about 
 not to have done so before. To think that they 
 had put up with so much, and for so long!— but 
 now, Losca Castle was the result. 
 
 Losca Castle on Glen Losca bay, in one of 
 the most beautiful of the Hebridean islands, was 
 in its way a great achievement. It combined 
 magnificence of size with elegance of structure 
 and luxury of equipment, — furthermore it was 
 just off the high road, and within ten minutes' 
 walk of the stone pier. On this latter point 
 Mr. Mercer had made a concession to domestic 
 exigencies ; his steam yacht could not always be 
 requisitioned when household matters were con- 
 cerned ; and as he was building, and could choose
 
 10 SIR PATRICK: THE TUDDOCK 
 
 his own site, having bought the entire estate, it 
 was represented to him that he might as well as 
 not reap the benefit of daily steamers, and also 
 have the amusement of seeing them load and 
 unload from his windows. 
 
 He bargained for a telescope, and did as he 
 was bid. 
 
 And though the brand new erection was perhaps 
 rather too much en evidence for the taste of old- 
 fashioned people, there was no denying that it 
 was architecturally a success. Its owner had 
 kept his own ideas and tastes in the background ; 
 he w^as not going to ' keep a dog and bark him- 
 self ; ' he said : he had inquired round, and found 
 the best man to go to ; then turned him loose 
 with open purse-strings. It was a very wise 
 thing to do. 
 
 " For all we want is a good, solid, comfortable 
 'ouse," quoth our worthy — then corrected himself 
 hastily : " but mind, it's a castle." 
 
 For several reasons he wished it to be a castle ; 
 but the most potent of these was a secret con- 
 viction that without being able to help himself 
 he would say ' 'Ouse ' every time the word came 
 up. 
 
 Accordingly the turrets of Losca Castle rose
 
 " I HATE UGLY MEN " 11 
 
 broad and high, and there was no mistaking that 
 they were turrets. Even when reflected in the 
 waters of the bay, as these lay glassy and shining 
 beneath, their battlements were sharply defined ; 
 and the entrance gates, visible far up the Sound, 
 carried out the idea. 
 
 Within all was breadth, and space, and height. 
 " None of your nasty low ceilings for me. Can't 
 breathe in 'em," said Jonathan, expanding his 
 chest. " And mind you, let there be plenty of 
 everything " — and those were the only orders he 
 gave. 
 
 He did not even remain upon the spot, but 
 went and came, and nodded his approbation, at 
 long intervals. 
 
 Masons and carpenters, plumbers and painters 
 winked at each other, as the stout little figure 
 turned its back after having stood silently among 
 them, while 'the boss' pointed hither and thither, 
 — and when their work was finished they collected 
 their tools and went off reluctantly, for the old 
 man had let it be understood that he was satisfied 
 after a substantial and satisfactory fashion. 
 
 " It's all right ; " was pretty much the sum total 
 of his praise, however ; and the young man to 
 whose credit Losca Castle now stands, was in
 
 12 SIR TATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 consequence startled beyond measure when with 
 a sudden jingling of keys in his right-hand pocket 
 — it is presumed they were keys that jingled ; 
 something always did when Mr. Mercer was 
 about to plunge — the millionaire turned sharply 
 towards him, " Look here, will you finish the 
 job?" 
 
 " But — hum, ha" — the young architect rubbed 
 his head in perplexity. He thought the job was 
 finished. Was there anything wrong ? Any 
 alteration ? 
 
 "No, no: that's not it. No, do; not at all. 
 You have built me a good 'ouse, a capital 'ouse," 
 said Jonathan, heartily. " It's just right, — and 
 with me ' just right ' means just right. I'll never 
 pick an 'ole afterwards. What I want now is to 
 know" — he paused, and cocked his. eye; then 
 with a sudden blurt, " will ye furnish it ? " 
 
 " Oh, never mind being surprised," continued 
 he, with a laugh and a nod. "It mayn't be the 
 regulation way of doing things, but what's that 
 to us ? We know nuthin' about such things, my 
 wife and I. You do. You have built me a 
 splendid 'ouse, and what you have got to do 
 now is to put in the sticks. I'll make it wuth 
 your while. D'ye see ? "
 
 "I HATE UGLY MEN" 13 
 
 Whereat Mr. Alma Tadeina Jones saw, to the 
 mutual advantage of Losca Castle and him- 
 self. 
 
 It may be taken for granted then, that every- 
 thing vv^ithin and without the domain was of the 
 best, and that it was by far the finest abode Miss 
 Sophia Gill had ever set foot in, or indeed seen 
 the outside of, when, all curiosity and delight, she 
 sprang from room to room, and upstairs and 
 downstairs, on her arrival there. 
 
 Heretofore her ideas of Scotland had been of 
 the vaguest. The Gill family, none of whom had 
 ever crossed the Border, had indeed told their 
 friends with exultation of Sophy's luck in going 
 thither, and her father with a reminiscence of 
 Oxford days and friends who occasionally shot 
 and fished on Highland moors and rivers, had 
 warned his daughter she would have to 'rough it' 
 — but for this he had been corrected briskly by 
 his wife : " As if the Mercers ever roughed it!" 
 Sophy, between her knowledge of the Mercers, 
 and her ignorance of everything else, must have 
 had conflicting and peculiar anticipations. 
 
 But nothing came amiss to her ; nothing ever 
 came amiss to the Gills in the shape of an invita- 
 tion ; and its reception in the small, over-stocked
 
 14 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 parsonage, was all that the heart of Benevolence 
 itself could desire. 
 
 Previously, Mrs. Mercer had made the pro- 
 position to her husband in these terms : 
 
 "Jonathan, those poor Gills." 
 
 " Well ?" said he. 
 
 " I don't know what is to be done for them." 
 
 " You seem to do it without knowing, then," 
 
 " But Jonathan " — a pause. 
 
 " What is in your mind now ? " said he. 
 
 At last it all came out. She had been over to 
 see the Gills — who were generally spoken of as 
 ' the poor Gills ' — that afternoon. She had 
 found the small, hot, stuffy house even fuller 
 than usual ; for not only had the boys been sent 
 home from school a week before the holidays, 
 owing to an outbreak of some complaint, but 
 they had actually brought with them a belated 
 schoolfellow, who had nowhere else to go, — and 
 the already overburdened mother, with a patient 
 smile, had refused to see any hardship in this 
 addition to her cares. " They're so happy to be 
 at home, and it is nice, fine weather," said she, 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " But where in the world do you put them all? " 
 demanded Mrs. Mercer, who kind as she was,
 
 "I HATE UGLY MEN" 15 
 
 would say anything she chose to * the poor 
 Gills.' 
 
 When she had heard all, and taken her leave, 
 she pondered deeply on her way home. There 
 was she sitting alone in her big carriage, and 
 going back to her big house, where only her 
 husband would sit with her all the evening. 
 
 The couple were sociable and hospitable, but 
 they loved to be alone between whiles ; and it was 
 this predilection for intervals of absolute rest and 
 freedom, which made her pause before committing 
 herself to the venture which yet she could not 
 dismiss from her thoughts. 
 
 "You see it's Sophy? "she murmured, inter- 
 rogatively. 
 
 ' ' Sophy ? What about Sophy ? ' ' 
 
 " I can't make up my mind to do it, and yet I 
 can't make up my mind not to do it. To take her 
 with us to Losca, I mean. You see we have never 
 taken a girl in that way before. They have come 
 and visited us ; come for a week or two, and then 
 gone on to some other place ; but if we take a 
 Gill girl — of course it must be Sophy, for none of 
 the others are old enough, besides it would be a 
 shame to pass Sophy by, even if Ethel is better 
 looking — what I was saying is that if we take a
 
 16 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 girl of that sort she must stay with us the whole 
 time ; " emphatically. " She must go with us and 
 come with us. And three months is three months. 
 Sophy would have to be quite intimate ; and of 
 course ever afterwards she would have to go on 
 being intimate. One has to take that into con- 
 sideration. You can't break off when you've once 
 begun. What do you think ? " 
 
 " Oh, I think— take her." 
 
 " That's so like you, Jonathan ; " drawing back 
 on the instant ; "men are always so off-hand and 
 airy ; — and I daresay you are laughing at me in 
 your sleeve, and wondering what on earth I am 
 making a fuss about?" 
 
 It was precisely what Jonathan was doing. 
 
 " I daresa}'^ now you are saying to yourself that 
 it would be a fine thing for Sophy, and for me 
 too." 
 
 " I was, old lady — I was." 
 
 " But it's not a fine thing at all ; " with asperity. 
 
 " Is it not ? " 
 
 " She'd be dreadfully in the way, sometimes. 
 And I'm not so old but I can still do my own 
 business in the house, and need help from nobody. 
 And suppose she were taken sick ? Or, wanted to 
 go home'? Or ?"
 
 " I HATE UGLY MEN " 17 
 
 "Trust her not to do that, at all events;" 
 Jonathan smiled significantly. " Miss Sophy 
 will know a good billet when she finds it. And 
 as for her turning sick, a great healthy creature 
 like that is never sick. Give her enough to eat 
 and drink, and she'd thrive in a cellar. You take 
 Sophy." 
 
 " It does seem rather a shame not to take her ; " 
 relenting. 
 
 " And get her some frocks. She'll need frocks 
 and things." 
 
 " She's a sensible, good-humoured girl, Jona- 
 than ; and so safely plain that there would be no 
 trouble with the young men " 
 
 "Ain't you going to pick her up a husband 
 then? " 
 
 All at once Mrs. Mercer's countenance bright- 
 ened. Oddly enough that idea had not before 
 occurred to her. From having neither sons, nor 
 daughters, nor any young relation whose matri- 
 monial concerns could be presided over, she had 
 almost grown to forget that such things existed, 
 and that summer and winter, seed time and 
 harvest did not roll round and round with the 
 same easy, unexpectant monotony for every one 
 as they did for her and Jonathan. 
 
 3
 
 18 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 But to be sure, although she was never allowed 
 a say in Mary Harborough's affairs, nor even to 
 have Mary by herself on a visit — an old rankle — 
 because forsooth the company beneath Mary's 
 own uncle's roof was supposed not to be good 
 enough for Lady Harborough's daughter, she 
 might make up a match for poor Sophy Gill and 
 welcome. Sophy's parents would bless her. The 
 girl herself — why, it might be the chance of her 
 life! 
 
 The very next day Mrs. Mercer drove over to 
 the parsonage and popped a cheque into Sophy's 
 hands. 
 
 " For of course Scotland requires different sort 
 of clothes," said she, cheerfully. "You just tell 
 your mother that ; and ask her to excuse my 
 taking the liberty. You must have dressy things, 
 and rough things. And a good macintosh and 
 umbrella. Oh, and Sophy, don't forget stout 
 boots ; boots that will stand knocking about. 
 But, my dear, you must be quite smart some- 
 times. On Sundays. And in the evenings. You 
 will need a couple of evening dresses at the least 
 — and a blouse to put on when w'e're by our- 
 selves " 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Mercer, how awfully, awfully good
 
 "I HATE UGLY MEN" 19 
 
 you are ! " Sophy's eyes were starting from her 
 head. Nothing hke this had ever happened in 
 her hfe before. 
 
 "I'm very glad to do it, my dear." The old 
 lady's heart warmed as she spoke. "Very glad 
 indeed, I assure you. I hope we shall be very 
 happy together." 
 
 "Happy! " cried Sophy, in an ecstacy. 
 
 " I'll get her a husband, I declare I will." Mrs. 
 Mercer subsequently vowed the above a dozen 
 times ; but still no one presented himself at Losca 
 Castle who appeared in the least disposed to 
 assume the title ; and now, now that Sir Patrick 
 Kinellan — but Sir Patrick must not be thus 
 hustled in, neck and crop, at the end of a 
 chapter.
 
 CHAPTEK II 
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 
 
 niR PATRICK was a curious, old-fashioned 
 ^ creature, whose ideas about himself were 
 forever at variance ; but both his shyness and 
 his pride, his diffidence and his dignity would 
 have shrunk appalled before the idea of his 
 forming the subject of discussion, matrimonially, 
 among his new-found neighbours. 
 
 For so long had he lived his own life, by so 
 many had his bachelorhood been taken for granted, 
 and his reticence upon the subject respected, that 
 at forty years of age he felt himself as safe from 
 attacks, expectations, or even jests as though he 
 had been a hundred. 
 
 Time was when the homely-featured, unattrac- 
 tive boy keenly felt and bitterly resented the con- 
 trast between himself and his younger brother, 
 as handsome and gallant a lad as any one would 
 
 20
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 21 
 
 wish to see, — but now he never envied Nigel. 
 Within his own walls he had peace and comfort ; 
 and told himself that he would not exchange his 
 solitude, and the serenity of his congenial, secluded 
 life, for the outwardly far more prosperous and 
 successful career of the dashing soldier, cankered 
 as it was by secret misery. 
 
 Nigel had married a pretty and wealthy girl — a 
 marriage approved by every one — and only one 
 person knew, knew at least to its fullest extent, 
 how that marriage had turned out. Domestic 
 bliss is not the world's concern ; no one supposed 
 that Colonel and Mrs. Kinellan were a devoted 
 couple, — but then what did it matter? They 
 were rich enough to afford a large house, and had 
 no need to bother with each other, — (the situation 
 was thus disposed of once in Sir Patrick's hearing, 
 and he had never forgotten it). 
 
 Had he been handsome, blythe, and taking as 
 Nigel, with the good luck to wed an heiress as 
 charming as himself, would that have been the 
 end of it with him, too, he wondered '? 
 
 Nigel had brought his bride to the old High- 
 land home, when he was as much in love with 
 her as it was in his nature to be ; and Sir Patrick, 
 who read his Shakespeare, and often had a mental
 
 22 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 quotation to suit a passing moment, turned away 
 more than once from the sight of the honey- 
 mooners philandering up the glen, or by the lake ; 
 turned away murmuring : " But oh, how bitter a 
 thing it is to look into happiness through another 
 man's eyes." 
 
 Subsequently it took him a long time to believe 
 in the possibility of what every one else knew to 
 be an accomplished fact. Eumour never reached 
 him, and he had only his own eyes and ears and 
 observation to depend upon. 
 
 But alas ! they were not to be misdoubted ; and 
 once disillusion set in, there was no more jealousy, 
 only a profound and tender pity for the husband, 
 and a burning contempt for the wife. 
 
 As was natural also, all Sir Patrick's views of 
 life on its domestic side were coloured by this 
 unfortunate experience. Here was Nigel, he 
 argued, a man whom any woman might love, 
 and who had certainly been once beloved — for 
 had he not himself been a witness to the endear- 
 ments, the blandishments ? — and Nigel was all 
 that he ever had been, nay, he was a better fellow, 
 a kinder, gentler fellow, infinitely less selfish and 
 masterful than in the old days — yet the love, 
 where was it ?
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 23 
 
 It amazed the elder brother who had such a 
 deep-seated, pathetic admiration for everything 
 the other said and did, to hear his opinion either 
 jeered at, or ignored as of too httle vahie to be 
 worth even a scoff. It wounded him to his inmost 
 soul to see the growing indifference with which 
 such contempt was met. 
 
 At one time Nigel would have coloured and bit 
 his lips, or flashed out resentment — which after 
 all, was better than apathy, the result of a long 
 growth of shame, — but Sir Patrick knew that 
 now he need fear none of the bickerings which 
 had shocked and startled him in earlier 
 years. 
 
 There was one child of the marriage, a little 
 girl ; and for Christabel's sake (so she said) , the 
 mother, who never found out that she was no 
 favourite with her brother-in-law, would every 
 now and then consent to spend a few weeks at 
 Kinellan House, little suspecting it was mainly 
 for Christabel's sake she was tolerated there. 
 
 She thought she brought life, and gaiety, and a 
 breath of the great world to the gloomy mansion 
 buried in its dismal glen. She vowed the first 
 sight of it gave her the blues. She told her 
 friends it always rained there — always. She said
 
 24 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Sir Patrick rattled in it like a pea in a pod — with 
 other small pleasantries. 
 
 But when Colonel Kinellan suggested curtly 
 that there was no occasion for his wife to put 
 herself out, as he was not aware that any invita- 
 tion had come to her from his brother, she won- 
 dered what on earth the man would say next ? 
 No invitation, indeed ! As if she needed an 
 invitation ! As if poor dear Sir Patrick would 
 ever have the ' cheek ' to ask her ! Of course it 
 was for her to offer — " And for Chrissy's sake I 
 shall offer," concluded Madam, with a toss of her 
 head. 
 
 Presently she would add " Are you coming with 
 us?" 
 
 She v/ished him to go, and he always went, — 
 but he had his reason and she hers. He could at 
 least stand between his poor old Pat and anything 
 he knew Pat would particularly dislike, but which 
 singlehanded a host might be unable to prevent ; 
 — also he looked forward to twilight talks, and 
 smokes, and wanderings about the moorland and 
 the shore, when he could once more feel himself 
 something of the Nigel of by-gone days, — while 
 she with all her affected aversion to the spot, in 
 reality cast upon it the eye of future possession.
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 25 
 
 In the long absences of the brothers, when not 
 a sound woke the echoes of the lonely house, she 
 could pry at will into its recesses, measure the 
 gallery for a dance, apportion the rooms for gay 
 guests and endless house parties ; re-furnish one 
 particular turret-chamber which even in its 
 present condition foreshadowed a charming 
 boudoir for herself. 
 
 Furthermore, she appraised the pictures, the 
 china, the old cabinets and bureaux. She might 
 keep them, or she might not. Anyhow they 
 were of value. 
 
 There were diamonds, too, and lace ; that she 
 knew. But she could not get at them ; and 
 certainly would never get at them if she did not 
 ingratiate herself with their possessor. Funny 
 old man, what on earth did he want with lace and 
 diamonds ? He ought to have given them to her 
 ages ago. Still, of course, the poor old thing 
 thought he might marry, — and the wonder was 
 that he had not married. If he only knew his 
 worth ; knew that there were girls by the dozen 
 who would jump at him, old and ugly as he was, 
 for the sake of being Lady Kinellan ; he would 
 be run in — horrible to think of ! — before he knew 
 where he was.
 
 26 SIK PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 And how she would have hated a Lady Kinellan ; 
 and how odious it would have been to have seen 
 her swaggering through the London season, and 
 then inviting all the people to Kinellan for the 
 Highland season ! 
 
 As it was, Selina did the part of understudy, 
 and bided her time. 
 
 Sir Patrick was six years his brother's senior, 
 and with his old coats, and old-mannish ways and 
 habits, was certainly in effect much more. She 
 easily persuaded herself that one of these days he 
 would drop off quietly, and then hey ! for a good 
 time, and no more locked drawers. What a 
 rummage she would have ! 
 
 "He's such a dear little old man," she would 
 say confidentially in her own set ; (for curiously 
 enough, she did not at all dislike the man who 
 kept her out of so much, and who, had she known 
 it, shrank from her with such an unconquerable 
 aversion) — " he's a perfect little fright, you know ; 
 but quite a darling. Lets me do whatever I 
 like ; and I daresay would be thankful to have 
 me there all the year round. Chris is simply 
 spoilt when she goes to Kinellan. Of course it 
 will all be hers one day ; " carelessly. 
 
 Nigel was rarely mentioned, never taken into
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 27 
 
 account by his wife. The most significant re- 
 ference to him on the part of the elder brother 
 would be not only unheeded, but absolutely un- 
 perceived, — since she had settled it with herself 
 that only jealousy and dislike could exist within the 
 bosom of one so inferior both mentally and physi- 
 cally, (Nigel had outstripped his brother in every 
 scholastic competition) ; — and having moreover 
 learned that nothing had been wanting to excite 
 such a feeling on the part of parents whose pride 
 had been mortified in their heir, and who had in 
 consequence lavished all their affection on their 
 only other child, nothing more was needed. 
 
 " Really, you know, I believe no one cares for 
 poor Patrick except me," Selina in a fit of virtue 
 would protest. " Of course Nigel is by way of ; " 
 contemptuously. " But when we first married, 
 J remember he told me to be prepared for a 
 little squat, dark, wild-looking man, w^ho hardly 
 ever spoke, and spent the whole day out of doors. 
 If I remind him of that now, he flies out in a 
 passion — but he said it all the same. And when 
 the two are together, my dears, such a contrast ! " 
 All the arching of two practised eyebrows could 
 not sufficiently convey the contrast. 
 
 Though she no longer cared twopence for the
 
 28 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 handsome Guardsman who had won her fickle 
 affections ten years before, SeHna did not behind 
 his back deny Nigel's looks. "Only he's such 
 a bore ; " she would fan herself, yawning. Once 
 she added, " I declare, I believe I should have 
 done better with Patrick." 
 
 The thing that pleased her most about her 
 brother-in-law was his persistent clinging to the 
 home of his childhood. " It is so nice and dear 
 of him. Of course he is happier there ; he would 
 make nothing of society," — (this was for an audi- 
 ence, we know her private opinion) — " but it is 
 only one man in a thousand who would have the 
 sense to see it. When Sir Patrick goes to London, 
 he spends his time at the different ' sights ! ' 
 Fancy ! The ' sights,' you knov/ ! I believe he 
 does them regularly ; goes up the Great Wheel 
 and all the rest of it. But I must say he has one 
 respectable taste. He attends the opera regularly. 
 Didn't I tell you ? He is desperately, ridiculously 
 fond of music — oh, he sits and thrums by himself 
 on the old piano at Kinellan ; Chris found that out ; 
 and since then, I have made her get hold of the 
 new tunes, and practice before we go there. Well, 
 my dear, I do assure you, this odd creature, who 
 likes nothing else that he ought to like, simply
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 29 
 
 lives at the opera. He is there night after night, 
 always by himself, and always in a front seat. I 
 wish he would have a box, and take us — me, at 
 least, for my husband wouldn't be paid to go, — 
 but Pat dislikes having other people with him. 
 Oh, I believe he sits and stares at cricket matches, 
 too, — and that is Sir Patrick Kinellan's London 
 season ! Isn't it comical ? Isn't it a joke ? 
 People can't invite him, for he won't give an 
 address, and he never goes near his club ; for fear 
 of the letters, he says. Once he didn't even tell 
 me where he was staying, and I pretended to be 
 very angry, — but of course no one can be really 
 angry with an oddity ; — and he said it was only 
 because he knew I would wish to be hospitable, 
 and he had come up to enjoy himself, — wasn't 
 that amusing? Oh, we are the best of friends, 
 and as he won't come to see me, I go to see him, 
 which is far better." 
 
 Indeed, scarcely an autumn passed that she did 
 not find her way to Kinellan House, before pro- 
 ceeding to gayer haunts ; and a veritable thorn in 
 the flesh did she prove to worthy Mr. and Mrs. 
 Mercer on first taking up their residence at Losca 
 Castle. 
 
 At church— for of course she went to church —
 
 30 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 she looked at them through her eyeglass. " Good 
 heavens ! what horrors ! " 
 
 She had, however, been obliged to speak to the 
 horrors ; indeed she was longing to do so in order 
 to be rude to them— and Sir Patrick's neighbourly- 
 greeting was quite what she had been prepared 
 for. It was delicious to look up and down Mrs. 
 Mercer's tall, handsome, well-clad figure, and if 
 she could not precisely call it ' vulgar,' indicate 
 unmistakably that it was not ' smart.' 
 
 To husband and wife she would condescend ; 
 but none of their guests had any species of recog- 
 nition from the female head of the Kinellan party. 
 Sophy Gill, who was silently taking in every 
 detail of a wonderful dress, and who stood fast 
 by the side of her patroness, hoping for an 
 introduction and future garden-parties, was 
 disappointed by Selina's turning away without 
 apparently seeing any one was there. 
 
 Sir Patrick, however, was rather cheerful on 
 the subject. " We must ask them to dinner," 
 said he, handing his sister-in-law into the carriage, 
 and preparing to walk home himself. 
 
 "Oh, must we?" she said, in reality well 
 pleased. Any variety was welcome. 
 
 " I waited till you came."
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 31 
 
 " Allriglit, what day?" 
 
 " Well, I thought of Thursday ; we shall all be 
 dead beat on Tuesday and Wednesday — (Tuesday 
 was the ' twelfth ') — but we shall take it easy on 
 Thursday ; " and he shut the carriage door. 
 
 When he got home, he added something else. 
 " We'll ask them all, you know." 
 
 " Oh, of course," said Selina. 
 
 And when Thursday came she put on her very 
 smartest frock, and laughed to herself. 
 
 She governed her countenance when she found 
 Sir Patrick rather fussy about his dinner, and 
 careful that everything should be done in style. 
 He was quite right ; only she would have liked 
 him to sneer with her in private, not treat the 
 affair as he did, with perfect seriousness and 
 respect. 
 
 " As we only know that there are twelve of 
 them coming, and not any more about them, we 
 can't be expected to understand who should go 
 with whom," said he, simply; "I take Mrs. Mercer, 
 and Mr. Mercer takes you ; and if there is another 
 married woman of the party, Nigel must take 
 her — but that can't be decided till they appear. 
 I Have told Macleod and Scott " — two young 
 shooting men, who were his only other guests—
 
 32 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " to be ready to pick out partners for themselves, 
 and the rest will have to manage somehow. 
 These sort of parties can't be formal." 
 
 "No, certainly." She wondered how he knew 
 so much. 
 
 " It's rather jolly having neighbours," pro- 
 ceeded Sir Patrick. " Old Mercer seems quite 
 unpretending and friendly. I suppose he is what 
 you call vulgar, but I don't mind. It has done 
 a lot of good having that big place built. I don't 
 know how many poor families have not been kept 
 going while it was building ; and though I'm 
 afraid there won't be any more of that now 
 that it is finished and inhabited, still there will 
 be pickings. It is a great thing that he has not 
 brought down his own keepers and gardeners, but 
 given all the posts to people here ; even the head 
 gardener was our second man ; and a piece of 
 luck it was for Mackinnon ; he was actually 
 looking out to better himself, and hung on with 
 us till Losca Castle started building. Then I 
 said a word for him, and he got the situation in 
 a jiffy. I supplied the head keeper, too ; " with 
 complacency. 
 
 " You take quite a fatherly interest in it all," 
 said the lady, pleasantly.
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA S3 
 
 " Oh, I do ; I asked the men how they were 
 getting on the other day, and they both said 
 'First-rate.' " 
 
 " Those milHonaires always pay well." 
 " Hum I No better than we do," said Sir 
 Patrick, with a little quiet pride. "Mercer asked 
 me what I gave, and said he should give the 
 same." 
 
 " Dear ! He should have doubled it." 
 " Why should he have doubled it ? " 
 "Why because you are ijou,'" said Selina, with 
 a laugh, " and Mr. Mercer is — Mr. Mercer. To 
 be only Mr. Mercer's gardener — don't you see? " 
 "Not at all, Losca gardens will be much more 
 likely to become noted than ours. I fancy Mercer 
 is fond of his garden, and will spend money upon 
 it." 
 
 " Though he would give no higher wages? " 
 " That's different ; he might not choose to out- 
 bid mc. Between ourselves, I was very well 
 pleased that he did not ; and it is quite likely — I 
 mean of course I don't know — but from the kind 
 of man I take him to be, I fancy it is not unlikely 
 
 that " 
 
 " That he wants to put himself on a par with 
 you." 
 
 4
 
 34 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 This was not what Sir Patrick meant, but he 
 saw the hopelessness of explanation. What he 
 had divined was precisely the truth, that his 
 homely neighbour who could not speak good 
 English and whose excellent clothes never seemed 
 quite at home upon his burly back, had instincts 
 which served him in the place of knowledge, 
 education, and fine breeding. One of these 
 instincts told him that it could neither be 
 agreeable to the older proprietor, nor desirable for 
 his own dependants to have an over-flowing purse 
 showered indiscriminately among the latter. 
 
 Donalds and Dugalds had indeed anticipated 
 such a shower with glee, their opinions on the 
 point coinciding with those of Mrs. Kinellan to a 
 nicety ; while their master had owned to himself 
 that it was only too probable the amplest of 
 expectations would be realised. 
 
 " Of course he'll spoil them; " Sir Patrick had 
 groaned within himself, looking with a frown at 
 the rising turrets of the castle. But when the 
 greedy underlings — what underlings are not 
 greedy? — we should be so too, in their place — 
 were surprised and disappointed. Sir Patrick 
 was jubilant. 
 
 The millionaire's moderation delighted him ;
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 35 
 
 it did more, it turned the scale in Mr. Mercer's 
 favour for all time. 
 
 " He's a good fellow — I'm sure he's a good 
 fellow," quoth the baronet, stumping away home 
 after his first interview, which had been held at 
 the agent's house as a sort of neutral ground ; 
 (but after this the worthy Mercer called quite 
 easily at Kinellan, and talked of other things than 
 business) — so that by the time the great new 
 building was inhabited, he had become fairly well 
 known to his brother proprietor, and the good 
 impression made at the outset was well stamped 
 in when we find Selina and her host in con- 
 ference. 
 
 It was not, however, worth arguing out with 
 a person Sir Patrick so heartily disliked ; and he 
 had only mentioned the matter from being in a 
 humour to talk, and to let her see that he, at 
 least, was going to be civil to the Mercers. She 
 might, or might not ; he could not help that, and 
 certainly would not condescend to request civility ; 
 but if he shewed his own hand, he knew her well 
 enough to shrewdly conjecture she would follow 
 suit on the surface — which was all he cared about. 
 
 Thus, " I fancy the wife is a cut above the 
 husband;" observed he.
 
 36 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Selina turned down her lips. 
 
 " She's a remarkably handsome woman." 
 
 Selina could not deny it. 
 
 " There are no children, so " 
 
 " Who is to get all the money? " 
 
 This Sir Patrick could not say. He had never 
 heard of Mary Harborough. 
 
 "It is a pity there is no daughter," said Selina, 
 playfully, " she would have been just the wife for 
 you." 
 
 "The wife?" He looked surprised; he had 
 hardly thought she would venture so far. 
 " Thanks, but I don't know that I am in need 
 of a wife," 
 
 " Oh yes, you are. Very much in need ; no one 
 more so," nodding at him. 
 
 " Indeed? "—stiffly. " But," said Sir Patrick, 
 with an effort not to let too much of his inward 
 annoyance appear, "if I am, why should — 
 excuse me if I fail to see why a daughter of Mr. 
 Mercer's should be supposed " 
 
 " My dear man " — (he did hate being called her 
 'dear man') — "nothing would have been more 
 natural. She would have been brought to your 
 very door ; you would have had no trouble ; and 
 could have managed it all down here so com-
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 87 
 
 fortably. You need never have left Kinellan ; 
 
 and the money would " she looked round, 
 
 "you are gettmg the least little bit out of date 
 here," she guided his eye from spot to spot — 
 
 "the money would have been " again she 
 
 paused with arch and significant lifting of the 
 eyebrows. 
 
 " I have enough to live on," said he, 
 coldly. 
 
 " But not enough to — Nigel told me only 
 yesterday you could not afford a house in Town, 
 and — other things." 
 
 " Did Nigel say I wished to have a house in 
 Town?" 
 
 " Bother Nigel, don't suppose I minded what 
 lie said;" an ugly gleam in the speaker's eye. 
 " But," pursued she, eagerly, (for "Now's my 
 chance," she thought) "we do speak of it some- 
 times, you know ; I said to your brother : ' It 
 must be dull for poor Patrick down here,' " 
 softening her tones to sympathy, " 'he ought to 
 have other houses to go to ; ' and v>'hen he said 
 you hated visiting, I had to tell him it was not 
 visiting I meant. Then he said in his quick way 
 — he always snubs me, you knov/ — ' Pat can't 
 afford houses all over the shop.' "
 
 38 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOGK 
 
 " So you thought a railHonaire's daughter 
 would put that right?" 
 
 " Well, you know, even if you chose to live on 
 here, there is a good deal needed : I heard you say 
 yesterday that you wished you could buy some 
 farm or other, and that it used to be part of the 
 Kinellan estate." 
 
 He winced. She was quite correct ; he had 
 said so, with some regret. 
 
 " So I think Mrs. Mercer might and ought to 
 have had a daughter for you," continued she, 
 delightfully impressive, since no daughter was 
 there. " Here you are, with a fine old title " 
 
 " A baronetcy is not a title." For the life of 
 him he could not hold his tongue. He was 
 punctilious, and Selina had made the mistake 
 in his hearing before now ; he felt he must say 
 something to annoy her who was annoying him 
 so fully ; and though a silent man, somehow he 
 did not wish to let the subject drop. More than 
 once of late he had felt her approaching it, knew 
 that it was in her mind, and was conscious of a 
 curious sense of disappointment even when 
 contriving successfully to evade its taking shape. 
 It would be as well to have it out now, and put 
 a stop once for all to hints and inuendoes.
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 39 
 
 " My poor old baronetcy is not worth much," 
 said he, "there are new ones every day to pick 
 and choose from. If that is all I have to 
 offer " 
 
 " You dear old silly ! " 
 
 But this was worse than the ' dear man ' ; 
 Sir Patrick fairly ' girned ' in spirit. He hated 
 Selina, and never more than when she thought 
 herself most acceptable to him. "Timeo 
 Danaos," said he to himself, not very appo- 
 sitely it must be confessed, but he knew what 
 he meant. Then all at once he lost his temper, 
 saying openly what perhaps he had never said to 
 mortal being before. 
 
 ""What is all this about?" said he, sternly. 
 " You have been hinting at it ever since you 
 came to the house — and at other times. Let 
 us understand each other. You profess that j^ou 
 wish me to marry. Why?" a pause. "Is it 
 that you think so highly of domestic bliss that 
 you can't bear me to be defrauded of it ? I 
 can't think so. Is it that you suppose I am a 
 likely man to be a woman's choice — the choice 
 of such a woman as would be fit to preside in 
 these walls, head our family, and take the place 
 •n it our mother took? You would not dare
 
 40 SIR PATKICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 to say so. Is it that you are afraid I shall look 
 beneath me — pick up some keeper's or fisher- 
 man's lass, and — knock your chance on the 
 head? Ha!" a harsh, strident laugh, for she 
 started and changed colour. "Yes, I see; 
 perhaps you think I am already married, 
 madam ? " he took a step forward, and struck 
 the table with his hand. "Is that it?" he 
 demanded, grimly. He felt sure that he had 
 hit the mark. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed " 
 
 "Whoever says so, it's a damned lie." He 
 was hoarse with passion. 
 
 "No one has; I am sure I would not for 
 
 worlds " 
 
 " Never mind ; protest if you like. But if I 
 catch you poisoning my brother's ear — no you 
 won't do that. Understand, however, Mrs, 
 Kinellan, that it is as Nigel's wife, and in that 
 capacity alone, I consent to pardon your imper- 
 tinent interference in this matter. Don't suppose 
 I am blinded by it. I know, I have known all 
 along what you think of me. I have let you 
 fawn upon me and fancy me deceived and 
 gulled ; but I never was so, not for a moment. 
 My poor brother " he paused.
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 41 
 
 "It is he who has done this." She was 
 beginning to recover, and venom was on the 
 tip of her tongue. 
 
 "It is not. He never speaks of you; he 
 doesn't need," with bitter emphasis. "I am not 
 the fool you take me for," continued Sir Patrick ; 
 " and look here, it is as well we should have 
 this out, you and I, for it was bound to come, 
 and things will go smoother between us here- 
 after. You can come here as you have always 
 done. For the sake of " 
 
 "Appearances," suggested she. Now she was 
 really rather enjoying herself; the shock had 
 passed ; and it v\^as such a joke to have made 
 the poor little toad farious. He had outwitted 
 her ; she supposed she had not been careful 
 enough ; and of course he was sensitive on his 
 appearance, as ail deformities were. ("Oh, no; 
 he's not quite a hunchback," she told her 
 friends ; " and he's awfully strong and broad ; 
 but he is simply hideous — at least I think so, 
 by contrast with his brother.") This was in the 
 days when Nigel was everything. She now 
 suggested the word "Appearances" thinking as 
 she did so ' ' Good boy ; no one need know, 
 then."
 
 42 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 ' The Puddock' however, looked at her, and she 
 could not but see the disgust in his eye. 
 
 "I was going to say, 'For the sake of the 
 child — and Nigel,' " said he, briefly. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mrs. Kinellan ; she had entirely 
 forgotten Christabel. Now, however, she eagerly 
 made use of her. " If you are rude to me, she 
 will see it; she is quite old enough, I assure you." 
 
 " I shall not be rude to you." 
 
 " I hope not, but you have been very rude 
 to-day — Patrick. (And people coming ! " mut- 
 tered she, to herself.) 
 
 The people coming were nothing to him, how- 
 ever. "I have been more than rude, I have been 
 in earnest ; I cannot risk a repetition of — of what 
 took place just now." He turned his head away 
 from her, but she saw a movement about the 
 muscles of his throat as though he were swal- 
 lowing something. " I repeat, I cannot risk it," 
 he said, suddenly wheeling round; "you will 
 please to understand this. It must never happen 
 again — never." 
 
 " Patrick, I promise it shan't ; " she jumped 
 up, and held out her hand. 
 
 He could not refuse to take it. "Very well 
 then. Perhaps Selina, I " — hesitating — "I
 
 PLAYFUL SELINA 43 
 
 ought to beg your pardon. I don't know much 
 about such things, but it appears to me that 
 possibly a gentleman ought to apologise even if 
 he has" — ("unmasked a lady," to himself) — aloud, 
 after a momentary halt, " even if both sides have 
 been at fault. You know me, and know that I 
 am not an ill-tempered man ; but there are some 
 points — I have lived much alone — I feel 
 
 deeply ; " he bit his lip. 
 
 Selina actually felt ashamed.
 
 CHAPTEK III 
 
 ''IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 
 
 k ND she behaved extraordinarily well all the 
 evening, in consequence. 
 
 There v/as no time to think over what had 
 passed, and shape her conduct accordingly ; but 
 she had a palpitating sense of having been caught 
 and caged — and again set free. 
 
 The whole scene had amazed and confounded 
 her. She was accustomed to Sir Patrick shy, 
 silent, and distrait, — or else at rare intervals 
 sociable. Her blood fairly chilled when he began 
 to stamp and tramp and his eyes to dart fire. 
 Fierce as any savage ancestor he had unhesitatingly 
 crushed her; then opened his hand, and let her 
 flutter off bruised and rumpled, but with no bones 
 broken. That was how she put it to herself. 
 
 Who would have thought The Puddock had it 
 in him? 
 
 44
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 45 
 
 She knew the name, haA^ing learned it in early 
 days when everything Nigel had to say was 
 interesting, and boyish revelations commanded 
 fondest attention. All were now cast out upon 
 the rubbish heap, worthless, forgotten — and it 
 was only in such a moment as the present that 
 memory showed it still lived. 
 
 Even as it was, it must be owned that Selina 
 did not speak ill-temperedly. She had had a tussle 
 with The Puddock, and come off the worst, and 
 bore the victor no grudge. 
 
 " I riled him ; " she nodded to herself. " The 
 poor little beast. He thought I was laughing at 
 him. I suppose he really and truly does think no 
 woman would look at him. Wonderful ! Why, 
 they would jump down his throat. What a 
 blessed thing is ignorance. ' Where ignorance is 
 bliss 'tis folly to be wise ' — ha ! ha ! ha ! But 
 The Puddock of all people to flare up!" drum- 
 ming with her fingers on the window pane, — for 
 despite would-be coolness, there was no doubt 
 that Mrs. Kinellan was agitated, not to say 
 slightly unnerved. 
 
 Literally she had not dared to let her thoughts 
 revert to the scene whilst dressing, and had 
 hurried through her evening toilette, fearful lest
 
 46 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 by misadventure she should be late, and Sir 
 Patrick as usual down before her. 
 
 In consequence she was very early, and the 
 room was empty. She could breathe, and allow 
 herself a few flashes of reminiscence. 
 
 " Pat was out of himself with passion. He 
 did not care what he said. I don't fancy he lets 
 himself go, once in a blue moon ; but there's no 
 mistake that it was rather earthquaky. What if 
 he had gone still further ? He might have for- 
 bidden me the house." She turned her eyes 
 round upon the great sun-lit room, with its many 
 glimmering window-panes, its screened recesses, 
 vaulted roof, and solemn, stately furniture. 
 Taking stock of it before, she had concluded to 
 let the drawing-room at Kinellan alone, whatever 
 changes might be effected elsewhere in the future ; 
 and all at once she realised what it would be to 
 behold a possibility of never standing again where 
 she was standing now. 
 
 Good Gracious ! She must take care what she 
 was about. Another moment and words might 
 have been spoken which could not be recalled. 
 Never must she tread on that thin edge again. 
 
 But as we have said, she was not angry with 
 her brother-in-law ; she rather admired him.
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 47 
 
 " It's a damned lie," she caught herself whis- 
 pering to herself over and over again with a kind 
 of smile. Half as much from Nigel would have 
 driven her furious. 
 
 Then the company arrived, and just before 
 them their host ; and had Sir Patrick been in any 
 wise a humorist, he would have seen something 
 supremely ludicrous in the meekness of his sister- 
 in-law beneath his supposed eye. 
 
 As a fact, he did look towards her once or 
 twice, half expecting to be annoyed by the cool- 
 ness of her manner, or by the supercilious airs 
 which no one could put on better than Selina— 
 but he was not in a frowning or compelling mood. 
 Indeed, although he was relieved, relieved of an 
 oppression which had been gathering weight 
 within his bosom for some time past, he was half 
 ashamed ; any sort of exposure was terrible to 
 him ; and the phrase which she could not rid 
 herself of, rang in his ears also, with a different 
 effect. She thought it sounded well — he, ill. 
 
 At any rate the words had been spoken and 
 could not be unspoken. He had betrayed himself 
 on a point as to which hitherto strict reticence 
 had been his shield and defence ; and he was 
 shrewd enougK to perceive that there must be no
 
 48 SIR PATEICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 drawing back, no apology. That would simply 
 put the halter on his neck again ; and albeit it 
 had been torn off with pain, it was off, thank 
 Goodness ! 
 
 He had shewn he would stand no nonsense. 
 He wished he had not been made to show it, but 
 wishing would not mend matters. 
 
 Heigho ! 
 
 A sigh escaped as Sir Patrick drew himself 
 inch by inch into his shell again. It was fine to 
 be out of it, if only for a few brief moments. 
 That breath of fresh air when he cared not for 
 pope nor devil, and metaphorically wrung Selina's 
 nose, was a glorious breath. He paused for a 
 moment drawing off his thick, heavy boots, and 
 cogitated, holding one in his hand. 
 
 If only he could have liked, not to say loved 
 Nigel's wife ! 
 
 There were so many things he could have said 
 to her ; so much she could have told him. 
 
 He never got near a woman. His own mother 
 had held him at arm's length. As for men ? He 
 had not managed to make friends among men. 
 In old days, when they came to Kinellan, it was 
 Nigel they took to ; going off with the younger, 
 merrier lad, and bidding ' Good-night ' to the
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 49 
 
 taciturn brother at the bottom of the stair- 
 case. 
 
 They had no idea that The Puddock looked 
 wistfuUy after them. He would not for worlds 
 have offered his company ; and even Nigel fancied 
 him a queer fellow who preferred to be alone. 
 
 Nigel sought out his brother now ; understood 
 him better than he ever did before ; would con- 
 tentedly tramp miles by his side without the 
 interchange of a syllable ; — but it was not to be 
 expected that with all the increase of affection 
 and comprehension, the reserve of a lifetime 
 could be broken down. 
 
 Besides it was a racial reserve. It was the 
 crust of ages. Nigel's free, jocular manner was 
 often only assumed at the last moment when 
 escape was impossible ; and the Kinellan bashful- 
 ness would not infrequently re-assert itself under 
 most inconvenient circumstances. 
 
 With Sir Patrick, however, as with his sister- 
 in-law, time pressed ; and though he must needs 
 halt involuntarily boot in hand, with the culmi- 
 nating point of the scene before his eyes, and his 
 own most strange and unusual voice thundering 
 in his ears, soon he had to be scurrying on again. 
 He had but just reached the turn of the big 
 
 5
 
 50 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 staircase when the Mercer's carriage crashed first 
 to the door. 
 
 And for some minutes after entering he dared 
 not look beyond the portly presence of the 
 millionaire's wife. So certain was he that Selina 
 would be sulky and vindictive once out of his 
 clutches, that at the sound of her silvery tones, 
 sweeter than sweet, here, there and everywhere 
 playing the hostess, he glanced round in surprise. 
 
 So, so? Nothing was to be feared then? He 
 despised Selina more than ever, and felt more 
 than ever convinced that it was she who had 
 set a-going a certain rumour which had come to 
 his ears. Had she been innocent, he argued, she 
 would not have taken what he said as she did. 
 
 By all means however, let things be smooth 
 on the surface. He was at one with his enemy 
 as to that ; and the cheerful buzz in the great 
 room sounded pleasantly enough in his ears. 
 When alone he never came into the drawing- 
 room. When up in Town, elbowing his way 
 among crowds, he would have an odd sensation, 
 thinking of the calm depths and unbroken still- 
 ness of that ancient abode. It was only when 
 Selina came that it was used. 
 
 But how well it looked, bright, and gay — the
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 51 
 
 setting sun lighting up the pretty dresses of the 
 ladies with his last rays of splendour. The guests 
 clustered in the windows to admire the glories 
 without. Sir Patrick, who often looked without, 
 on this occasion contentedly surveyed the scene 
 within. 
 
 He was glad, certainly he was now glad that 
 Losca Castle had been built. Now that he knew 
 his neighbours, and was no longer overpowered by 
 the thought of them. 
 
 At first, and before meeting with Mr. Mercer, 
 the knowledge that a self-made man, reeking of 
 money, was about to plant himself four miles 
 off — no great distance in those parts — had 
 embittered every waking hour. He who had 
 been left so long in peace was to have peace no 
 longer. Every kind of nightmare had presented 
 itself to his imagination. 
 
 And these were only half dispelled by acquaint- 
 ance with good old Jonathan, for there was still 
 Mrs. Jo to be reckoned with. 
 
 When Mrs. Jo, however, proved to be if any- 
 thing the better half of the two as in duty bound. 
 The Puddock had experienced a rebound of 
 spirits which took him out of himself altogether. 
 He now actually regarded the Mercers as acquisi-
 
 52 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 tions, and the giving of his first dinner-party in 
 their honour as a pleasurable event. 
 
 Nigel, standing near the door, handsome, neg- 
 ligent, and truth to tell bored consumedly by the 
 whole affair, looked in unfeigned surprise at his 
 brother, as head well up, talking and laughing, 
 Sir Patrick gallantly led his lady out, and albeit 
 not so tall as she, looked by no means amiss at 
 her side. 
 
 " Ton my soul, Pat — the old fellow doesn't 
 look half bad," pronounced the swell colonel, 
 with an emotion that was almost one of ten- 
 derness. 
 
 Then he woke up and shook himself together. 
 If that were to be the way of it, he would take 
 the hint. He would back up old Pat to the best 
 of his power ; and away he went with his lady, 
 prepared to put his best foot forward. The 
 success of the evening was by this last touch 
 assured. 
 
 In regard to its material part, the worst that 
 could have been said was that solid excellence 
 and old-fashioned taste prevailed ; and Selina, 
 who at another time might have curled her lip at 
 the heavy stacks of flowers, which took the place 
 of the lighter and more elegant table decorations
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 53 
 
 to which she was accustomed, found herself to 
 her surprise disposed to think it all in keeping. 
 Old-fashionedness would never do for herself, but 
 " Upon my word," reflected she, " there is some- 
 thing rather splendid about The Puddock in the 
 midst of his antiquities. A new setting would 
 spoil him." 
 
 Out of Sir Patrick's sight she did indeed relapse 
 to a certain extent. AVith the retreat of the 
 ladies it became her bounden duty to impress 
 upon them their inferiority, to drawl and yawn, 
 and finally glide through the gallery door a,nd 
 lounge away by herself upon the terrace, leaving 
 good Mrs. Mercer fast anchored to the sofa 
 corner, and the younger visitors drifting aimlessly 
 to and fro — while only Sophy Gill poked a brisk, 
 inquisitive nose about — but Mrs. Kinellan was 
 back in her proper place before her host made his 
 reappearance. 
 
 " Selina, do you think we might hope for a 
 little music? " But though Sir Patrick with his 
 own hands opened the piano and looked interro- 
 gatively round, the music was not forthcoming. 
 
 " People only sing now when they are really 
 good," whispered Selina, confidentially. 
 
 " What shall Vv^e have, then? " said he.
 
 54 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 "A round game, or something of that sort." 
 
 "Oh," said Sir Patrick, blankly. ("What on 
 earth is ' A round game ' ? " said he, to himself.) 
 
 He was ready, however, to do whatever was in 
 accordance with the general inclination, and there 
 was no doubt about the alacrity with which the 
 new suggestion was met. 
 
 At the close of the evening he formally thanked 
 Selina for having contributed so largely to its 
 success, and kept to himself his opinion of her 
 game. 
 
 It did its part ; made laughter and noise, and 
 kept every one going ; she was right to have it. 
 As to the music, she was right too. If it were not 
 good, good of its kind that was to say, he pre- 
 ferred none. He simply could not endure preten- 
 tious mediocrity. 
 
 Still, Sir Patrick breathed a quiet sigh as he 
 shut the piano when all had gone. He wondered 
 if he should ever hear a really beautiful woman's 
 voice filling those walls again ? In his youth he 
 remembered such an one. It was when he was 
 an awkward school-boy, who would have shrunk 
 in agony before the idea of any one's knowing the 
 rapture it gave him — but he had never forgotten 
 it. When inviting the Mercers, the thought had
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 55 
 
 passed through his mind that some of his guests 
 might prove to be musical. 
 
 After this there were of course return civiHties, 
 and entertainments at Losca Castle on a scale 
 which Selina had she dared would have termed 
 'vulgar magnificence.' Being determined to go 
 to them, she held her tongue. Had she given it 
 rein, cart-ropes would not have dragged Sir Patrick 
 thither. He was straightforwardness itself. 
 
 The sly little cat, however, indemnified herself 
 behind his back ; and though it was impossible to 
 absolutely cold-shoulder the people who had been 
 at Kinellan, and with whom she had shrieked and 
 scrambled over her game, subsequent relays of 
 plebeian guests — and it is to be feared most of the 
 Mercers' guests were plebeian — had the full bene- 
 fi!t of Mrs. Kinellan's impertinence. 
 
 There was one especial field on which it could 
 have full play, and this was the deck of Mr. 
 Mercer's steam yacht, the Bravura. 
 
 Sir Patrick never joined the yachting parties. 
 He liked the sea when rough ; was often out in 
 wild weather, with his own men and his own boat 
 — "Aye, he'll be out many a day when he would 
 be best at home," Selina had once been told — but 
 to be frizzling beneath an August sun upon the
 
 56 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 glassy surface of the water from hour to hour, 
 with nothing to do but make small talk, drink 
 iced champagne, and smoke cigars on sufferance, 
 was not to be endured ; he thanked Mr. Mercer 
 politely and accepted invitations — for his friends. 
 
 They went, and they ate and drank, and pre- 
 sumably enjoyed the long ' laze ' on the snowy 
 deck, with a blazing sky overhead and mirrored 
 depths on every side — those were the days for the 
 Bravura to steam out of Losca Bay, full charged 
 with a merry crew and gaily tipped with bunting 
 — but Mrs. Kinellan's party took their cue from 
 Mrs. Kinellan on such occasions. 
 
 " The thing is to show from the first that we 
 don't mean to be 'in' with them; " Selina in- 
 structed, privately. " Of course we must go. It 
 is simply awfully nice ; especially just now when 
 it is too hot to stir on land, — but they must under- 
 stand to let us alone. The old couple are nothing 
 to mind ; it is their friends who are such bounders." 
 
 " Oh, we'll tackle the bounders," quoth the 
 Honourable Georges and Georginas. 
 
 And they were equal to it, as the event proved. 
 If host or hostess drew near the spot where the 
 Kinellan party had plumped down in a well-packed 
 phalanx, the men would indeed jump up, and
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE 57 
 
 affect a kind of civility — but the old people per- 
 ceiving they were not wanted, would be only too 
 glad to fall back upon their own set, and take it 
 for granted that Sir Patrick's friends were best 
 left to themselves. 
 
 At the close of the expedition there would be 
 vague murmurs of " Th — anks. Jolly day. Aw'fly 
 good of you," as they severally took leave; " and 
 upon my word, those were the only words I heard 
 spoken from first to last," exclaimed on one occa- 
 sion good Mrs. Mercer, who was neither so blind 
 nor so mild as she looked. 
 
 " Jonathan," said she, next day, " we'll just go 
 to Staffa without those people." Now Selina had 
 set her heart on going to Staffa. 
 
 But why should we linger over this foolish little 
 woman, and her trivialities '? Her like is known 
 to us all ; and we have only introduced her to our 
 reader's notice because of the brief scene narrated 
 in the last chapter, and the effect it had upon the 
 after life of our hero. Presently she was gone ; 
 her autumn stay at Kinellan over ; and her brother- 
 in-law released. 
 
 He breathed a sigh of relief as he walked back 
 to bis deserted halls, having seen the party off in 
 due style by the south-bound steamer ; he strolled
 
 58 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 through the garden, the stables, the farm ; he 
 smoked on the terrace, sitting on his favourite 
 corner stone ; he looked in at every window in 
 succession, as he presently walked round to the 
 front door, with the first chilly breath of evening. 
 
 It was glorious to be alone again. Not to be 
 for-ever stumbling upon figures emerging from 
 their rooms, or trapping him on the staircase. 
 
 Often he had to go where he did not in the least 
 want to go, because some one else was going in 
 his original direction. He would have to dive into 
 the library or gun-room, in order to avoid some 
 friend of Selina's who, equally alarmed, showed 
 himself as anxious to be avoided. 
 
 He was sure Selina told them to get out of his 
 way. This made matters worse. They did not 
 get ; they only tried and failed. 
 
 It will be asked : Why did he endure all this, 
 why was he not man enough to order his house as 
 he chose, and keep out of it people who were not 
 wanted ? The answer is simple. Sir Patrick was 
 Sir Patrick, the representative of his race, the 
 lord of its ancient lands. It behoved him, whether 
 he liked or no, to keep up its hospitable tradi- 
 tions. 
 
 And as he could not, unaided, have summoned
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 59 
 
 above a few isolated relations, or old college 
 friends, sadly inadequate to the demand, when 
 the festal season came round, he was forced to 
 depend upon Selina. 
 
 He knew that from one point of view he was 
 safe with Selina ; she would never let Kinellan 
 down by a too-open door — and indeed to do her 
 justice, she was careful as to the status and reputa- 
 tion of her guests — but this was about all that 
 could be said. For the space of a few weeks the 
 scene lasted ; the moor was shot over, the chimneys 
 smoked, there was bustle of servants, the old 
 silver dish-covers came out nightly, and Sir 
 Patrick was understood to be holding high revel 
 in the halls of his ancestors. 
 
 He devoutly hoped so, at least ; and when the 
 annual fray was over, how thankful he was ! 
 
 But vrith the advent of the Mercers into the 
 neighbourhood, there arose new thought. Kinellan 
 had done its duty, and could once more, soldier- 
 like, stand at ease, — but how about Losca Castle? 
 Had its revellers also betaken themselves to other 
 happy hunting grounds ? That did not, it is true, 
 concern him ; but what did concern him was that 
 he had neighbours to whom something was due in 
 the shape of a parting call, on the presumption
 
 60 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 that they, hke most others of their sort, were only 
 fair-weather visitors to the Highlands. 
 
 They would be off soon — he was sure they 
 would. What could a couple of elderly millionaires 
 with all the world to choose from, find worth re- 
 maining for, when the tide of tourists and sports- 
 men had turned ? 
 
 The weather indeed was fine ; but millionaires 
 can command their own weather. 
 
 " They'll be off directl}''," muttered Sir Patrick, 
 and sat and thought. 
 
 He had great ideas as to what was due from 
 him. His curious, secluded life led him to magnify 
 its importance in a manner perfectly reconcilable 
 with personal modesty. No one could think less 
 of himself as himself ; but had he moved about 
 the world more, he would not, for instance, have 
 worried as he did over his call on Mrs. Jonathan 
 Mercer. 
 
 He fully meant to go. Then he put off going. 
 
 Then he began to think they must be expecting 
 him. From this he passed to uneasy visions of 
 their wondering at him, talking about him. 
 Finally he was sure they would meet him with 
 cold looks, and this completed the sum of his 
 misery.
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 61 
 
 If he had only gone at first ! Gone on the very 
 day that Nigel and his wife left ! What had now 
 the air of being a perfunctory business, reluctantly 
 and grudgingly undertaken, would then have been 
 esteemed a voluntary act of grace, and as such 
 welcomed. 
 
 " They'll wonder what on earth now brings me 
 at all? " cried he, miserably. " Since I could let 
 ten days pass, I might as well stay away altogether. 
 That's what they'll think, any way. And perhaps 
 they have told each other so." 
 
 At length there came a day when he saw the 
 Losca carriage on the road, and dashed into a nut 
 wood, and peered from behind a clump of rock till 
 it passed. Screwing his eyes to a small aperture, 
 he could perceive two ladies, and two ladies only, 
 seated within. He brushed the moss from his 
 coat— for he had been leaning over the mossy 
 rock, and took up the stick he had laid down. 
 Then turning a deaf ear to the pleadings of 
 viauvais-Jionte, and feeling very much as if about 
 to storm a breach The Puddock walked straight 
 away after the retreating vehicle, and through the 
 great gates of the castle. 
 
 They were nothing to him ; neither were his 
 rough, country clothes, nor the fact that he had no
 
 62 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 cards in his pocket. Did not everybody he met 
 know he was Sir Patrick Kinellan, and would not 
 the lodge-keeper's wife have opened the gates up- 
 side down for him, had he so willed it ? 
 
 He even fancied that she looked approbation, 
 pleased doubtless that he should honour her em- 
 ployers by bestowing on them the light of his 
 countenance. 
 
 '* I'm glad I came, if only for Nanny's sake," 
 reflected he. He had placed Nanny where she 
 was. 
 
 Now if only he could make Mrs. Mercer under- 
 stand that he had been frightfully busy ever since 
 he was alone, and that the delay in paying his 
 respects was due to this cause. " Really I have 
 not had a moment," he arranged to say with 
 suitable emphasis, thinking of the two letters 
 which had had to be written that very morning, 
 besides the number of things Mr. Wigram, the 
 factor, had discussed and taken orders about. 
 
 "Oh, I could not possibly have come before," 
 thought Sir Patrick, much comforted now that 
 this solution of the problem had presented itself — 
 (his afternoons having been absolutely vacant he 
 had not hitherto thought of it) — "but I must be 
 prepared for a cool reception till I can explain,"
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 63 
 
 subjoined he, tramping steadily after the footman 
 who let him in. 
 
 Nor was he to be baulked of his explanation, 
 even when met with outstretched hands and 
 smiles on the part of a hostess who was both 
 surprised and pleased. 
 
 Mrs. Mercer and Sophy were having their tea 
 together, and very comfortable they looked, sip- 
 ping and munching beside a large wood fire, 
 which the- old lady always kept alight in her 
 drawing-room, and which a nip in the September 
 air outside rendered a welcome sight. 
 
 " Come in. Sir Patrick; come in. We are all 
 by ourselves, we two. My husband is off in the 
 yacht, taking the last of our visitors as far as 
 Oban. They'll catch the train for London there. 
 Sophy, give Sir Patrick some tea." 
 
 Sir Patrick took a chair. " I am sorry to have 
 been prevented calling before," began he, but was 
 cut short. 
 
 " That tea's too strong, Sophy." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, but I hke it." If there was 
 a thing he did like it was his tea good. He now 
 resumed : "I had hoped to be able to call 
 before " 
 
 " We are glad to see you any way, Sir Patrick.
 
 64 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 These cakes are hot;" the old lady handed 
 some. 
 
 " As soon as my visitors left, I fully intended 
 to walk over " 
 
 " But we have been away, my husband and I. 
 We went off for a week in the yacht, just to see 
 how we liked it. We had beautiful weather;" 
 and she dilated, but Sir Patrick felt too much 
 perturbed to listen. He could not get in his 
 apology, and his ' frightfully busy,' and all that 
 he had prepared so carefully for the occasion. 
 He turned to Sophy Gill, resolved that she at 
 least should hear him out. 
 
 It was at this moment that an idea crossed 
 Mrs. Mercer's mind : 
 
 Sir Patrick and Sophy ! Why not ? 
 
 Stranger things than that had come to pass ; 
 and though poor Sophy, with nothing particular 
 to recommend her, was likely to be overlooked 
 when others were by, it might be her day now, 
 who could say ? 
 
 It was said that Sir Patrick was not a marrying 
 man. That was neither here nor there. There 
 was not a breath of scandal against him, and no 
 reason in the world why any girl — " It's that 
 little vixen, his brother's wife, that puts him off,"
 
 " IT'S A DAMNED LIE " 65 
 
 suddenly cried our shrewd old observer. " He 
 sees what a mess of it that handsome brother of 
 his has made, and takes it for granted that women 
 are all alike. And of course he's homely and 
 stumpy. It almost seems a pity that the fine- 
 lookino- colonel shouldn't be the baronet — but 
 not her,'' hastily ; " she's bad enough as she is, 
 sprawling about on the yacht's deck, with her 
 wicked little feet sticking out, to show them, — 
 (a great offence) — but maybe if Nigel had been Sir 
 Nigel he'd have married differently. He'd have 
 got some really great lady, as good and true as 
 they often are, not a made-up piece like Selina. 
 She won't let Sir Patrick take a wife if she can 
 help it. Not a lady visitor at Kinellan that v/as 
 not married fast and firm. And how she looked 
 at those Buckram girls the day I took them there ! 
 But Sophy wasn't worth being afraid of. Indeed, 
 Mrs. Kinellan?" . . . A pause. . . . " My word, 
 if it were only to see your face " and suddenly an 
 echo of Jonathan's voice a;.king : " Ain't you 
 going to get her a husband ? " rose to his wife's 
 recollection. 
 
 "We'll see," quoth she now, oracularly. 
 
 When she awoke from her reverie, Sir Patrick 
 and Sophy were in full talk. 
 
 6
 
 66 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 "They wouldn't be much to look at," thought 
 Mrs. Mercer, with whom naturally, looks went a 
 long way, " he's plain and she's plain, and one 
 wouldn't be able to cast a stone at the other. 
 But Sophy's a strong, cheerful lass, and she 
 could rough it down here in the winter as well as 
 anybody. Kinellan House, winter or no winter, 
 would be luxury compared with what poor Sophy's 
 accustomed to. Well, she's a lady by birth — 
 anyhow her father is a gentleman, and an Oxford 
 man ; and her mother so — so. As good as the 
 most of us. No one could say it was a low 
 marriage — though there's one who would say it 
 if she could, no doubt. Sophy wouldn't need to 
 mind. She's not thin-skinned, that's one comfort. 
 She can stand a good deal when her bread and 
 cheese is in question ; all the Gills can. Dear 
 me ! what a lift it would be to them. One or 
 other could always be stopping at Kinellan ; and 
 the girls could wear Sophy's old clothes " 
 
 " Oh, thank you, I'll bring it here for you to 
 see," said Sophy, at the moment. 
 
 " What's that ? " demanded Mrs. Mercer. 
 
 " It's my handline, the handline uncle Jona- 
 than gave me" — "Uncle Jonathan" had been 
 instituted since Sophy became one of the family
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 67 
 
 as it were, " It's all in a muddle," protested she, 
 " and I have been hours over it this morning, 
 trying to wind it, so that it shall run out smoothly. 
 It's all over the floor in the next room." 
 
 "I am going to show her how to do it," 
 amended Sir Patrick. 
 
 "Very kind. Will you go into the room, 
 then?" 
 
 " Oh, I can bring it here," said Sophy, inno- 
 cently; and after a moment's thought the old 
 lady nodded assent. She told herself that she 
 must not go too fast. 
 
 When however she presently beheld the two 
 
 heads bent together over the tangled skein, and 
 
 the two sets of fingers twisting and turning and 
 
 unravelling, while the one dictated and the other 
 
 obeyed, she felt very much as if she could have 
 
 apostrophised them in Meg Merrilees' memorable 
 
 song : 
 
 " Twist ye, twine ye, even so 
 Mingle human bliss and woe." 
 
 " What is it to be ? Bliss or no bliss ? " whis- 
 pered she, to herself. " At any rate, it's a chance. 
 He's here alone, and she's here alone, and as I 
 say, it's a chance. We'll not hurry off. And if 
 Sophy wants a warm frock for the colder weather,
 
 68 SIE PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 she can have it. Jonathan would give her the 
 trousseau of course ; " she concluded, letting fancy 
 fly again. 
 
 It certainly appeared as if matters were taking 
 shape. Sir Patrick, who was even more shy of 
 departing than of arriving, and who had no one 
 waiting for him at his own home, sat on where 
 he felt easy and comfortable, until a cry from 
 Sophy brought all three to the windows. 
 
 " There she is, coming in, the Bravura. Let 
 us go down and meet her. We shall be just in 
 time, and there will be such a lot of parcels to 
 carry up." 
 
 " I am afraid I have stayed an unconscionable 
 time already," said Sir Patrick, looking at his 
 hostess with a smile — she always said he had a 
 beautiful smile — " but if I may escort this young 
 lady down to the shore, and just shake hands 
 with Mr. Mercer " 
 
 " He will be delighted, Sir Patrick. I would 
 come myself, but it is a steep climb back, and I 
 am forbidden to hurry " 
 
 " We shan't be in time unless we go now," 
 shouted Sophy, for whom the said parcels had a 
 special interest. She was half out of the door 
 as she spoke.
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 69 
 
 " Well, I never ! " ejaculated Mrs. Mercer, 
 almost afraid of so much good kick. " To see the 
 yacht coming, and just in the nick of time ! And 
 to ask him to go — as good as ask him — so frankly 
 and naturally ! It really does lo®k — it seems 
 almost too good to be true. The poor Gills. No 
 one will believe it. Of course Sir Patrick ought 
 to have looked higher : I can't deny that a 
 marriage with them is hardly up to his mark ; 
 but then he wouldnt look. And that's his own 
 business. He is pretty nearly forty years of age, 
 so it's no use hanging back and being too humble. 
 If Sophy can catch him, she has a perfect right 
 to, say I." 
 
 She then rose and looked from the window. 
 
 " There they go, running down as hard as ever 
 they can. Dear me ! there's no need to run like 
 that ; " softly apostrophising under her breath, 
 " what does it matter if the boat should get in 
 first? Jonathan can't help seeing them, and he 
 can't escape them, for there's no other way up. 
 There, he's at the landing place now ; " straining 
 her eyes. 
 
 And presently she had no need to strain them. 
 Up the steep, rocky path three figures were seen 
 ascending, slowly enough this time ; and Sir
 
 70 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Patrick re-entered the house along with the other 
 two, 
 
 " Good-bye, then, and we'll see you at dinner 
 to-morrow night;" were the final words spoken 
 ere the sturdy little baronet stumped away — 
 while Mrs. Mercer felt anew that it was ' almost 
 too good to be true.' 
 
 The next night in good time the guest appeared. 
 
 Indeed he was in such good time that only 
 Sophy was down to keep him company for fully 
 twenty minutes ere any one else appeared. Mr. 
 Mercer had received business letters by the second 
 post which needed immediate attention, and Mrs. 
 Mercer cognisant of this, saw no need for hurry- 
 ing herself. " Give Sophy a chance," said she to 
 herself. The sound of a lively conversation going 
 on between the two young people — as she termed 
 them — struck hopefully upon her ear, as she 
 opened the door at last ; and there they were sure 
 enough, seated in the window of the little room 
 supposed to be large enough for four people, to 
 which Sir Patrick had been conducted. 
 
 Now let us see how Sir Patrick was feeling. 
 
 " This is a very nice girl," thought he. " No 
 nonsense about her. She is dehghted to remain 
 at Losca as long as ever the Mercers like to stay.
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 71 
 
 Rather wonderful, that. I thought all girls were 
 the same, tired of the country the moment it 
 became dull. Selina says so. And probably it is 
 true enough of the girls she knows. This one 
 seems of another sort." 
 
 Particularly sick of Selina as he was at the 
 moment, there was refreshment in the very 
 thought, and without any ulterior design, Sir 
 Patrick made himself agreeable with an ease and 
 freedom that surprised himself. 
 
 On his own ground he had plenty to talk about. 
 He could recount an anecdote with humour, and 
 appreciate the humour of others. He waxed 
 actually garrulous at last, and was vividly re- 
 counting an adventure which had never before 
 found an auditor — Selina's friends caring for none 
 of these things — when his hostess appeared. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Mercer," cried Sophy, " you never 
 heard anything like this. Do tell her what you 
 did, Sir Patrick," turning to him, " Slept all 
 night on the rock ! " — turning again to her. 
 " The rock, you know, in the middle of the loch. 
 Do tell her ; " urging him on. 
 
 Sir Patrick laughed. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Mrs. Mercer. 
 
 Altogether they were a simple little party, and
 
 72 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 even when it was completed by the arrival of good 
 Jonathan, breathless and apologetic, there was 
 still no one to be stiff and shy and formal with. 
 Jonathan bundled them in to dinner post-haste, 
 and that feat accomplished, was ready to talk and 
 laugh with anybody. 
 
 " I wonder if you would come and dine with 
 me ? " said Sir Patrick, at the close of the evening 
 " I am all alone over there, and it would be a 
 great kindness. Any night ? " 
 
 A night was fixed. 
 
 "Now, Sophy, put on your pink frock," said 
 Mrs. Mercer, coming into her young friend's 
 room at dressing time. " You may as well, my 
 dear, for there won't be many more opportunities." 
 
 " Won't this do? " said Sophy, doubtfully. She 
 had got out a muslin blouse and a dark skirt, in 
 her own mind saving the pink which was her 
 best, and even the white which was her second 
 best, for future use. 
 
 "Dear me, no," said Mrs. Mercer, almost 
 crossly. "You can't dine at Kinellan House in 
 that sort of — good enough for home evenings, my 
 dear, but not the dress to dine out in ; " emphati- 
 cally. 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Sophy.
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 73 
 
 That was the best of Sophy, she was always 
 ready with her "Oh, very well" even when 
 acquiescence went against the grain ; and though 
 in her heart she thought it nothing less than folly 
 and waste to attire herself smartly for one man, 
 and him a man who never saw what a girl had 
 on, she cheerfully dressed — to please Mrs. Mercer. 
 
 " That's right," said the old lady, approvingly. 
 " You may trust me to know what is done at 
 great houses, Sophy ; of course you can't " — (with 
 swift, mental reference to 'the poor Gills') — 
 " but young girls Vv'oukl do a great deal better than 
 they do do, if they would now and then suppose 
 older people knew about things. Sir Patrick is 
 accustomed to Mrs. Kinellan's smart friends ; 
 you don't want him to think you a dowdy?" 
 
 " I don't want you to be ashamed of me." 
 
 " AVhy — aye — yes — of course." Mrs. Mercer 
 felt a shade disappointed. "To be sure. Yes ; " 
 pondering. " I fancy it's rather a compliment 
 his asking us," she threw out. 
 
 " This is the fourth time we've dined there," 
 said Sophy, reflectively. " There was the first 
 dinner, when it was daylight, do you remember? 
 We all sat down by dayhght, and it got dark, but 
 Sir Patrick wouldn't have the lights in. Then
 
 74 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 the next night they had to come in, in the middle 
 of dinner. And the last time was the farewell — 
 at least it wasn't, but we all thought it was. I 
 never expected we should be going there again." 
 
 " No more did I. And I daresay this won't be 
 the last time either." 
 
 "Why doesn't he have people when he's 
 alone?" suggested Sophy. 
 
 " He's what they call a recluse, my dear. He 
 told me himself that he hardly ever had company 
 except during the shooting season. You see he 
 couldn't ask ladies unless he had " 
 
 " Why, I'm sure they'd rather be without 
 Selina," laughed Sophy. " And though it is 
 very nice going out to dinner again, it would 
 be a great deal nicer if he had a houseful of 
 people. They needn't be her kind of people. 
 He's jolly enough when he's by himself : I 
 daresay his friends would be jolly too. I wish 
 he'd ask a lot down." 
 
 " You stupid girl ! " said Mrs. Mercer, to 
 herself. 
 
 As it was evident that Sophy was not only 
 stupid but purblind, it behoved her to stir the 
 stagnant waters with a delicate finger. Uncon- 
 sciousness was one thing, but not to see what
 
 "IT'S A DAMNED LIE" 75 
 
 was a perfectly providential opening and be ready 
 to embrace it, was another. 
 
 After the evening at Kinellan, during which 
 Sir Patrick not only played the attentive host, 
 but almost the admirer to Mrs. Mercer's view, 
 she felt she must say something — and now at 
 last we come to the passage-at-arms between the 
 two, wherewith our little story opens. 
 
 It took place on the morning after Sir Patrick's 
 dinner-party.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 
 
 TT is always an awkward thing to have strained 
 relations between host and guest, and in the 
 case before us there were reasons which made 
 anything of the kind even more than usually 
 so. 
 
 Mrs. Mercer and her young friend were now 
 very intimate ; they were thrown upon each 
 other's society for the best part of every day ; 
 Sophy was under one long continued obligation ; 
 and there was no one to whom either could 
 disburden her mind. 
 
 " I can't and I won't tell Jonathan," said the 
 old lady, decidedly. 
 
 The young one had not even a Jonathan to 
 tell. 
 
 When the first rush of angry feeling had 
 
 76
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 77 
 
 subsided, the disagreeableness, the discomfort 
 of the situation appalled them both. 
 
 " There now, I've been and gone and done it; " 
 muttered Soph}^ hurrying out of doors with an 
 idea of getting away from the whole thing. 
 
 "After all my trouble! And I made up my 
 mind when I came that I was to say ' Yes ' to 
 everything, if I died for it. She didn't care 
 for me particularly at first ; she just put up with 
 me, and I was brought as a charity — but she had 
 got to be quite affectionate, and I might have had 
 the run of Dove Hall as I've had of Losca. 
 What on earth possessed me to fly out about 
 The Puddock? What does he matter? I 
 needn't have bothered my head about him, and 
 yet have kept in with Mrs. Mercer." A pause, 
 " She'll never forgive me, nasty old thing. And 
 there'll be the Hunt Ball ; and the Christmas 
 Ball ; and I shan't get asked to either. I know 
 she would have given me my frocks, too ; she as 
 good as said she would. But she's as mad as she 
 can be with me now, because I won't marry an 
 old man and bury myself at his old hole, and — 
 and — I suppose she thinks he's good enough for 
 we;" — tears of vexation springing to her eyes. 
 " Just because I'm poor; " — kicking the pebbles
 
 78 SIE PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 of the shore first with one foot, then with 
 another. " Anybody's good enough for me," 
 pursued Miss Sophy, bitterly, " that's Mrs. 
 Mercer's idea. ' Aunt Louisa ' indeed ! I 
 shall always call her ' Mrs. Mercer ' to rnyself. 
 And it v/ould be a fine thing for me to be taken 
 off her hands, and for her still to be ' aunt 
 Louisa ' to Lady Kinellan. Lady Kinellan ! " 
 Another pause. " If only he had been j'oung 
 and handsome and splendid," cried Sophy, with 
 a groan, " wouldn't I have gone in for him then ? 
 He would have come riding over here every day, 
 galloping, and looking up at the windows to see 
 if I was leaning out — and I would have sailed 
 in his boat — and we would have wandered over 
 the moors — Oh, it's too bad, it's too bad — Sir 
 Patrick might just as well have been a man one 
 could fall in love with, instead of a stupid old 
 Puddock." Bang went a whole shower of pebbles. 
 "Looking for shells, Miss Sophy?" said a 
 pleasant voice overhead. Sir Patrick had never 
 heard her called anything but ' Sophy ' and 
 could not have supplied a surname had he been 
 asked. He was, however, old-fashioned, and 
 Miss Sophy did very well for him. He was 
 now looking down from an overhanging rock,
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 79 
 
 and perceiving that the young lady thought 
 herself alone, felt he ought to make his presence 
 known. 
 
 " How d'3'e do ? Yes, I am looking for shells ; " 
 Sophy looked up and nodded back. 
 
 "Found any good ones?" said Sir Patrick, 
 scrambling down to her side. " I am afraid it 
 is too early in the season, but after a good storm 
 there are often first-rate shells all along our 
 coasts. And have you tried the sand?" 
 
 " The sand ? " said Sophy, bewildered. 
 
 Sir Patrick laughed. 
 
 " I daresay you never looked at it? Or at any 
 rate, into it. Well, I don't know about this side 
 of the island, but over at Kinellan there are some 
 little bays where the sand shines, and if you take 
 up a handful, you have simply grasped thousands 
 of minute shells, some of them so small that they 
 can only be seen through the microscope. I have 
 them sifted out in different drawers. I must 
 'show you my collection." 
 
 "Oh," said she, indifferently. For a girl who 
 was seeking for shells she was curiously indif- 
 ferent. 
 
 "What have you got?" inquired Sir Patrick, 
 who was in a chatty humour.
 
 80 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 She had got nothing. 
 
 " I was afraid it v/as too early, and the weather 
 has been too fine. You see it needs a good 
 rousing Vvdnd to throw up the weed, and give a 
 general stir round. I always go out after a wind." 
 
 "Were you coming to call at Losca?" suddenly 
 inquired Sophy ; an idea had occurred to her. 
 
 " I was on my way there, but I saw you, 
 and " 
 
 (" And came after me ! ") But she governed 
 herself. She must not play the fool a second time. 
 
 "I suppose you saw me from the turn of the 
 road?" she said; "whenever we have been out, 
 I always expect to see some one or something 
 as soon as we reach that turn on our way 
 home." 
 
 "And what a glorious view you get from it," 
 cried Sir Patrick, who was a lover of Nature, and 
 knew every point and headland and far-reaching 
 mountain range upon which his eye now rested ; 
 knew them and studied them in all their aspects. 
 "Look at that bar of light between us and the 
 dark beyond. Isn't that fine? Aren't scenes 
 like these worth living among ? Pid you see 
 the sunset last night ? " 
 
 " N — no. I don't think so."
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 81 
 
 "No, by-the-way, you are the wrong side for 
 sunsets. You would only see the reflection on 
 the hill-tops. But it was a sight." He mused, 
 seeing it over again. " There was not a ripple, 
 and the herring boats were all lying this way and 
 that, their sails drying. And the blue threads of 
 smoke curling up — I suppose the men were 
 cooking their suppers — every single puff was 
 reflected. And such a sky ! " 
 
 (" A sky ! ") Sophy had never looked at a sky 
 in her life. 
 
 She felt bored and contemptuous, but prudence 
 prevailed. She looked at Sir Patrick, and then 
 on the ground, and the devil entered into her 
 heart. It is not only into the hearts of the 
 powdered and painted denizens of the world that 
 the devil enters. 
 
 " I am sure it must have been lovely," re- 
 sponded she, " — and what a pity that we missed 
 it. Do you — do you know beforehand when there 
 is going to be a good sunset ? " 
 
 " Sometimes we do, and sometimes we don't," 
 
 said he. "For instance, to-night " and he 
 
 cocked his eye. 
 
 "You couldn't come over and tell us?" said 
 Sophy, demurely. 
 
 7
 
 82 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 "I am afraid it would not be much good if I 
 did." Sir Patrick wondered a little. But it was 
 a girl, a young girl, and an unsophisticated young 
 girl talking ; he reflected that such beings were 
 privileged. 
 
 "At any rate we shall know that you are enjoy- 
 ing it ; " and she turned her innocent eyes upon him. 
 
 "You have the sunrise, you know," said he. 
 " And from Kinellan we see nothing of that. 
 We are shut off by the same big mountains that 
 shut off the sunset from you. Turn and turn 
 about is fair play. Miss Sophy," smiling. 
 
 " I think your side of the island is so much the 
 prettier." 
 
 So did Sir Patrick ; but he was nothing if not 
 courteous. " Losca is more conveniently placed, 
 and no doubt Mr. Mercer took that into account. 
 There is no anchorage for a yacht with us. And 
 you would find it very dull without the steamers 
 coming and going beneath your windows. Think 
 of the post and telegraph office too, at your very 
 lodge gates." 
 
 (" My lodge gates ! How delicious it sounds. 
 He is very easy to talk to.") Aloud: " I don't care 
 much about posts and telegraphs. They never 
 bring anything interesting for me." •
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 83 
 
 " Not from your people at home ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, from my people at home, of course." 
 She saw her mistake ; it would never do to be 
 thought wanting in family affection, " But their 
 letters always come by the morning post," said 
 she, readily. " And you have that as early as we 
 have." 
 
 " Not quite. About an hour later." 
 
 "Well, I could wait that hour," said Sophy, 
 laughing. 
 
 Any one but Sir Patrick would have seen what 
 she was aiming at, but Sir Patrick never saw 
 such things. Never at least in the young. Had 
 it indeed been Sophy's patroness who thus 
 openly flattered and insinuated, he might have 
 been on his guard — Selina's image with warning 
 finger upraised, would have risen to view — but 
 this frank, guileless damsel ? No, no. He was 
 only amused with her. 
 
 • He noticed too that as they approached the 
 castle her step quickened, it was a hurrying step 
 at last. " She is afraid of a scolding;" thought 
 he. He little knew that she was only panting to 
 exhibit her prize, and that fast as she sped along, 
 imagination flew on wings before her. 
 
 (" Mrs. Mercer will forgive me all. She will
 
 84 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 fancy I have thought better of it. There will be 
 no more cool looks. How could I be such a 
 silly ? It will be a thousand times better to let 
 things be pleasant, and see what turns up. He 
 may never come to the scratch ; or if he does I 
 can hum and haw till I get safe away out of the 
 place. Anyhow I shan't have to sit for hours 
 with that woman scowling at me, and not a soul 
 to pour out to. Oh ! what a blessing that The 
 Puddock turned up like this. I don't feel as if I 
 minded him a bit to-day.") 
 
 " Jonathan," said Mrs. Mercer, from the 
 window. Jonathan was below among the flower- 
 beds. 
 
 "Come up Jonathan; quick," said his wife, 
 and disappeared. When he had obeyed her 
 summons she seized him by the coat with both 
 hands. " Now, Jonathan, listen to me and don't 
 be stupid. Here's Sir Patrick coming in with 
 Sophy Gill. Now, don't you say a single word 
 about it. If you do, that girl will fly off at a 
 tangent as sure as fate. Now, Jonathan, do you 
 hear me'? I'm dreadfully afraid of you ; " shaking 
 him vigorously, " you're so outspoken ; and unless 
 you give me your promise that you'll be 
 mum "
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 85 
 
 " What's all this about ? " said he. 
 
 " Oh, you men ! " Mrs. Mercer was suffering 
 from re-kindled excitement. " ' What's all this 
 about ' indeed ? Am I not telling you what it's 
 about ? Sir Patrick and Sophy Gill. There they 
 are ; coming along the terrace at this very 
 moment." 
 
 Jonathan rolled his eyes round. Then rubbed 
 them. Finally he looked almost sternly at the 
 speaker. " Is this your doing ? " he said. 
 
 " Gracious me ! My doing ? " 
 
 " I repeat, your doing, Mrs. Mercer. For if it 
 is " 
 
 " It's no one's doing." She fell back, aston- 
 ished. " It's— it's just " 
 
 " Have you been plotting and scheming ? " 
 
 " That I have not." 
 
 " Sure, ma'am ? Sure ? " 
 
 " What do you call ' plotting and scheming "? " 
 feebly. 
 
 " Setting them to meet each other ; " he pointed 
 with his finger at the approaching figures ; 
 " gigitting us over there to dinner " 
 
 "You yourself heard him ask us. And as for 
 their meeting now — I'll tell you the truth, I'd 
 better tell it — Sophy and I had words about Sir
 
 86 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Patrick only an hour ago, and she flew out of the 
 room. I merely let fall a hint that he — well, I 
 thought, I really did, Jonathan, that he seemed 
 071 the way, you know — I think so still, for that 
 matter — and I was so afraid she might say some- 
 thing to put him off. Of course he's not precisely 
 a lady's man " 
 
 "A lady's man!" almost shouted Jonathan, 
 " she'd be a lucky lady that ever got such a man. 
 What are you thinking of ? Do jou suppose if 
 Sir Patrick chose to marry " 
 
 "Not so loud, my dear, not so loud. Your 
 voice does carry so, Jonathan." 
 
 " To even him to Sophy Gill ! " muttered he, 
 contemptuously. 
 
 " But you said I was to get her a husband." 
 
 " I didn't say such a husband." 
 
 " Come now, he's not everybody's bargain, my 
 dear." 
 
 " Not anybody's — that's to say he'll not let 
 himself be bargained." 
 
 " Oh, I don't doubt there are plenty who would 
 be well enough pleased, but they don't get the 
 chance. Now just see what a chance this is. It 
 could all be managed so snugly and quietly " 
 
 " Bless my soul, woman, what are you thinking
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 87 
 
 of '? Snugly ! Quietly ! You speak as if we were 
 to entrap Sir Patrick " 
 
 "No, no; Jonathan. No indeed, Jonathan; 
 you are too hasty. All I meant was that of course 
 if there were other and prettier girls about, Sophy 
 is perhaps hardly the one to be picked out ; but 
 when there's nobody else " 
 
 "It's Hobson's Choice, is it?" (He said 
 * 'Obson's,' but no matter.) 
 
 " I do think you are cruel to the poor thing." 
 
 " May be. But she ought not to fly as high as 
 Sir Patrick Kinellan. It stands to reason. What 
 would he think if he saw " 
 
 " Sh ! Here they come," whispered she, and 
 he felt a clutch upon his arm. He shook it off, 
 and turned with a frown to greet Sir Patrick. 
 Somehow he was even more vexed with Sir 
 Patrick than with Sophy. 
 
 What was the man about to let the women 
 ride rough-shod over him like this ? Could he 
 not see what they were up to? "I don't like it 
 at all," quoth honest Jonathan, to himself. 
 
 By-and-by, however, he smoothed down ; he 
 really did not see that he need put himself in a 
 pet, after all. Sir Patrick wore his everyday look 
 and manner, while Sophy beneath Mrs. Mercer's
 
 88 SIK PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 eye, made no more pretty speeches about Kinellan. 
 There did not appear to be any self-consciousness 
 on either hand ; and should it prove that the names 
 of the pair had merely been coupled together by 
 his wife in a hasty moment, he would forgive her. 
 
 It set him thinking, however. 
 
 And when a millionaire thinks, it is usually to 
 some purpose ; his thoughts do not drift and 
 ramble aimlessly about, as do those of other men. 
 He does not say to himself such and such a thing 
 might be done, he says " I'll do it." 
 
 Now Mr. Jonathan Mercer had a niece — oh, 
 don't suppose dear reader, he was going to send 
 for her in order that Sir Patrick Kinellan might 
 fall down at Mary Harborough's feet, and say 
 metaphorically to Sophy Gill ; " Eight about. 
 Wheel. March." Nothing of the kind ; but he 
 made up his mind to get Mary to Losca all the 
 same. "It will just put a stop to this little 
 game ; " he nodded to himself, " without any 
 broken hearts in the case. ' Snugly and quietly ' 
 indeed!" The words grated on his ears. He 
 foresaw what he termed a hole-and-corner busi- 
 ness, such as revolted his inmost soul. 
 
 "Not that she means it, poor soul," reflected 
 he, thinking of his wife; "it's only that she's a
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 89 
 
 woman, and all women are alike. They can't for 
 their lives look at both sides of the question. 
 And though I might put to her till I was black in 
 the face that if a man wouldn't look at a girl 
 unless so be as there was no other to look at, 
 she's not the girl for him, that woman would 
 just say "Dear me, Jonathan!" (mimicking) 
 " and go on inviting Sir Patrick all the same. 
 Now I suppose she'd say I was a brute," pursued 
 he, knitting his bushy brows, and glancing at the 
 trio who, blissfully unconscious, talked and laughed 
 while these fateful ruminations were going on, 
 " but old Jonathan isn't going to stand by and 
 see that sort of thing go on under his nose. This 
 nose smells a rat, and the smell ain't good. Lady 
 Harborough will just have to lend her precious 
 Mary to her vulgar old brother, or the vulgar old 
 brother will know the reason why. It ain't often 
 
 I ask the favour ; but when I do, ma'am " 
 
 Jonathan smiled. 
 
 He could put the screw on at any moment. 
 
 His sister, who had married right up among 
 the grandees as he was \vont to tell his friends 
 in confidential moments, was a widow and 
 mainly supported by him. Her paltry jointure — 
 paltry according to his ideas — would have gone
 
 90 SIE PATRICK : THE PUDDOCK 
 
 but a very little way in the maintenance of an 
 ambitious woman with a beautiful daughter for 
 whom a brilliant future was anticipated. She 
 had appealed to her dear and only brother — he 
 had never had so affectionate a letter from her 
 before — and he had responded to her entire 
 satisfaction. Thenceforward he could command, 
 where he had hitherto had to beseech. 
 
 And in his heart he was immensely jJroud of 
 the Harborough connection. 
 
 He could not help it ; he despised himself for 
 it ; he tried to think he would have been better 
 pleased had May — his dear little pretty flaxen- 
 haired May, with whom he used to play on the 
 green after school hours, and who had all the 
 boys of the place bringing her sweets and holding 
 the swing while she swung — he tried to think he 
 would have chosen a husband for her out of his 
 own class if he had been consulted ; but it may be 
 doubted if she as Mrs. Smith, or Mrs. Brown 
 would have received the cheques which filled 
 Lady Harborough's bosom with thanksgiving. 
 
 She was many years her brother's junior, and 
 he was already well up the ladder on the waj^ to 
 fortune, when Sir Philip came along, an elderly 
 man with an itch for a third wife.
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 91 
 
 " Don't have him if you don't want him ; " said 
 Jonathan. But he was conscious of being glad 
 when she said she did want him, and meant to 
 have him. 
 
 What was more, the brother always maintained 
 that the sister had chosen wisely. She knew her 
 own mind, he said, and was not as soft-hearted 
 as she looked. He fancied that if she had settled 
 down with ' Dick, Tom, or Harry,' the fellows 
 of her youth, she would have repented it. She 
 was always full of ideas. 
 
 Even to himself, good old Jonathan scarcely 
 liked to acknowledge that had he been less 
 wealthy and liberal, his footing at Harborough 
 Chase would not have been by any means what 
 it was. " She is fond of her old brother," he 
 would say rather doubtfully. "May ain't what 
 you call a tender feeling woman, but she is fond 
 of her old brother." 
 
 He stood godfather to May's only child as a 
 matter of course. The little one was taught to 
 toddle to his knee, and peer in the pockets of his 
 great-coat, where it always found something. 
 "Your uncle is really too good to you;" Lady 
 Harborough would allege on birthdays. 
 
 But as Mary grew up (she was never ' May,'
 
 92 SIK PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 the name would not have suited her) she came 
 less and less to Dove Hall. " We shall be so 
 glad to see you and Louisa here," would be a 
 frequent formula in Lady Harborough's writing, 
 " but Mary is busy with her lessons, and it would 
 be a pity to interrupt them." 
 
 Or if it were holiday-time, Mary was growing so 
 fast that she was to be sent to the sea by the 
 doctor's orders ; or, she had been promised a trip 
 abroad with her parents, and had been looking 
 forward to it for so long that her mother feared 
 it would be too great a disappointment to give it 
 up now. 
 
 But always accompanying such refusals would 
 be the summons to come and see Mary in her own 
 home ; and with this the childless uncle and aunt 
 were fain to be satisfied. 
 
 When they went nothing could be nicer, and 
 no one kinder than host and hostess. 
 
 Sir Philip, a thin, whitefaced, alarmed-looking 
 man, rather enjoyed his burly brother-in-law's 
 company, and listened respectfully to his talk, 
 especially if Jonathan talked about money. He 
 knew that he might wear his old diimer suit with 
 impunity when Mr. and Mrs. Mercer were as they 
 often were, the only guests. N.B. Lady Har-
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 93 
 
 borough used to protest that a family party was 
 always the pleasantest, when the Mercers found 
 no other occupants of the spare rooms. Whereat 
 Jonathan's eyes would twinkle ; and once he said 
 something, in consequence of which there were 
 two other couples already installed and prepared 
 to be agreeable, on his next appearance at the 
 Chase. Her ladyship, who was clever in her own 
 way, was quick to see when a mistake had been 
 made. 
 
 But the older Mary grew, the less likely di'd it 
 appear that she v/ould ever pay her homely 
 relations any but the most severely and formally 
 hedged-in of visits. Mary herself pleaded in 
 vain. 
 
 " I should like to go all by myself for a long, 
 long time," she said once, when on the verge of 
 eighteen : " uncle Jo said he would like it, and so 
 did aunt Lou. "Why can't I go? " For she was 
 a spoilt child, and whined for what she wanted. 
 
 "Can't she go?" inquired Sir Philip. His 
 eldest daughter (for he had a first family) would 
 have gone anywhere, and it did not occur to him 
 that Mary's mother was in terror lest the old 
 strain in the blood, so carefully kept out of sight 
 in her own case, and so anxiously guarded against
 
 94 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 in her daughter's, might re-appear under fostering 
 circumstances. 
 
 "We don't know lohat sort of people they 
 might have," she replied ; " and after all the pains 
 I have been at to avoid giving offence, and yet 
 never have Mary mixed up in a lower set than 
 what she is accustomed to, it would be simple 
 folly to let her go to Dove Hall now ; now of all 
 times. Just when she is to be presented and 
 brought out — and so much depends upon her 
 bringing out." To hear the great lady talk, would 
 any one have guessed that her mother had cooked 
 her own dinner and washed her own linen ? 
 
 Even Sir Philip, who was getting old, had 
 forgotten by this time. 
 
 And Mary herself never knew. Her Harborough 
 grandmother had been a beauty, and a toast ; and 
 once Jonathan Mercer heard the young girl 
 boasting of this. " We have her miniature here," 
 said Mary. 
 
 " Shew it to your uncle, dear," said her mother. 
 Aside, " It is thought so like her;'' nodding and 
 smiling. 
 
 Jonathan said nothing at the time. The next 
 day he was alone with his' niece, and the minia- 
 ture on' a table close by. ' ""You have; no picture
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 95 
 
 of your other grandma, Mary '? " said he, 
 quietly. 
 
 "Why, no; uncle. I never knew there was one." 
 " Do you know anything about her, my dear? " 
 " No, uncle. I — I am afraid I do not." Mary 
 hung her head a little. 
 
 " She was a very good woman," said Jonathan, 
 steadily; "she worked and toiled; and had she 
 lived, it would perhaps have been better for your 
 ma and me ; for she would have brought us up in 
 the fear of the Lord, as I've heard the neighbours 
 say, — but we never knew — leastways May never 
 knew what a loss she had in being left motherless 
 before she was twelve years old, even if" — he 
 paused and looked steadfastly at Mary's daughter, 
 wondering whether he dared to finish the sentence 
 as he was finishing it within his own breast? He 
 felt that he ought, he wished that he could, — but 
 the moment passed, and Lady Harborough never 
 knew how near she had been to the edge of a 
 precipice. This had happened before the days of 
 her widowhood. 
 
 After that, Jonathan was more careful. He 
 realised that with Sir Philip gone, and his son 
 (himself a married man with a family) in posses- 
 sion,""the two females were in a manner at his
 
 96 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 mercy ; and something of the old protecting 
 fondness he had had as a boy for the httle sister 
 who had no one but himself to care for her, 
 returned for the widow who once again depended 
 for so much on him. 
 
 She was ' grand ' of course ; but he thought she 
 had a right to be grand, and would not have liked 
 to see her in anything but the best of company, 
 holding her head up among them. 
 
 He paid the big rent for the small house in the 
 heart of Mayfair without a qualm. 
 
 He went with May to see after carriages. She 
 would have put up with some not quite in the 
 latest fashion, but Jonathan would not. 
 
 He declared for a second footman. The widow's 
 eyes glistened at his extravagance. 
 
 " And see that she's turned out ' up to Dick,' " 
 concluded he, with a glance at Mary. "Don't 
 stint her, (always remember that he said 'er), — 
 " and if any feller comes along and you're satisfied, 
 arid she's satisfied, send him to me." 
 
 The Dowager Lady Harborough took both her 
 brother's hands in her own and kissed him. There 
 are some people upon whom liberality makes more 
 impression than any other virtue. 
 
 We can thus understand then when it entered
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 97 
 
 into the mind of our worthy friend to summon his 
 niece, in order, as he freely put it, to bowl out 
 Miss Sophy Gill, whose acquiescence in his wife's 
 designs he did not for a moment doubt — else why 
 all this bridling and coquetting? — he was not, we 
 repeat, hampered by any doubts of being able to 
 carry out his purpose. 
 
 Once or twice of late he had nearly sent for 
 Mary. On first going down to Losca, he had 
 longed to propose her making one of the party. 
 But an opportune medical order for German 
 baths had nipped, as possibly it was meant to nip, 
 any such contingency in the bud. 
 
 " If they would have us by ourselves," the 
 fashionable dame confided to her daughter, " I'm 
 sure I would go, and so would you, dear. Gladly. 
 Cheerfully. Such a dear uncle ; and poor Louisa 
 is quite harmless. But they loill have such 
 dreadful people. Anybody who wants board and 
 lodging can get in at Dove Hall ; and no doubt it 
 will be the same, or more so, at Losca Castle. I 
 know we always heard their house-parties in the 
 Highlands were the laughing-stock of the neigh- 
 bourhood. No, we can't go, Mary ; not at present. 
 When you are a little older, and have established 
 
 your position " 
 
 8
 
 98 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 "Oh, what does that matter?" cried Mary, 
 impatiently. 
 
 "My dear, that is it, that is just it. It is 
 because you are always thinking it doesn't matter" 
 — Lady Harborough frowned and bit her lip, she 
 could not explain, could not get her daughter to 
 see without explanation — finally had to fall back 
 on vexation and silence, — but what she was say- 
 ing to herself was that if the tiresome girl could 
 only perceive how much it mattered, that it would 
 not have mattered one half as much — a curious 
 grammatical product in the way of an aphorism, 
 but there is no doubt her ladyship knew what she 
 meant. 
 
 " I think all that sort of thing's nonsense," said 
 Mary, bluntly. Then she burst out : " Why need 
 we mind more than other people ? Everybody 
 goes everywhere now-a-days. The De Vesci girls 
 are going to stop with their coalman. They think 
 it the greatest fun. They say they have seen his 
 name on the coal-trucks at the station. Maud De 
 Vesci says it's a shame to waste such a visit in 
 hot weather, as they might have coaled up all 
 night in their bedrooms, if they had gone in the 
 winter. And uncle Jo is your own brother " 
 
 Here again Mary missed the point.
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 99 
 
 In the end, however, she yielded ; indeed she 
 had no very strong feeHngs on the subject either 
 v^ay, and v^ith all the good things of the v^^orld to 
 pick and choose from, could dispense with the 
 exercise of self-will on an immaterial point. 
 
 Someday or other she would go to Losca Castle ; 
 and meantime she went here, there, and every- 
 where, enjoying life as much as a girl could. 
 
 " I do think Mary Harborough has the best 
 time of any of us ; " was a frequent remark in the 
 Harborough set, and it was a set in which most 
 of its members had good times. 
 
 Mary was, as we have said, beautiful — she was 
 also healthy, vigorous, high-spirited, and abso- 
 lutely without an apparent care or trouble. 
 
 Her father's death had removed a kindly old 
 man, and what was more, taken away a home to 
 which she was fondly attached ; but youth soon 
 becomes reconciled to the inevitable, and she 
 rneant to have a country house of her own 
 presently. 
 
 Presently. When she had decided on the 
 person who was to share it. So far he had not 
 appeared, but " You know, my dear," said the 
 mother, in one of the ' little talks ' which from 
 time to time circumstances rendered desirable,
 
 100 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " there is no need to hurry. You are not like 
 other girls, Mary. Your good, kind uncle " 
 
 " But I don't want to be married for my money," 
 cried Mary, indignantly. 
 
 " There is no fear of that." Lady Harborough 
 regarded fondly, proudly, and significantly the 
 glowing face which always looked its best when 
 thus stirred. " I really think you need not worry 
 about that. Even supposing it is conjectured that 
 you are likely to inherit a fortune " 
 
 " Conjectured ? Everybody knows," 
 
 " They can't know. They may suppose. They 
 may even take it for granted ' ' 
 
 " They do know. Mother, what is the use 
 of pretending? As if Johnny Stapleton would 
 ever have " 
 
 " It was extremely presuming of Captain 
 Stapleton to think of you at all. A fifth son! 
 He ought to have considered himself " 
 
 " It was his people who egged him on, you 
 know." 
 
 " His people ? He pretended he was madly in 
 love with you ! " 
 
 " He wasn't. He only had to say it." 
 
 " At any rate there was Sir Harry Bright, and 
 Lord Alexander Gowrie. Both very suitable.
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 101 
 
 Not that I wished you to have either of them, but 
 there was no harm in their speaking." 
 
 "Oh, no harm. But they didn't want me, all 
 the same." 
 
 "My dear child, what do you mean? If they 
 did not w^ant you, what did they ask you for ? " 
 
 " They didn't want me, they wouldn't have 
 minded Miss Harborough. She was good enough, 
 all things considered. She had a decent appear- 
 ance ; and there was the old josser at her 
 back " 
 
 " Mary, Mary ! — Eeally, really ! I — you really 
 startle me sometimes. Where you can have 
 picked up," cried her ladyship genuinely an- 
 noyed, not to say alarmed — ' ' such words, such 
 language " 
 
 " It's all right. We all talk like that now," 
 Mary nodded re-assuringly. " Keep your hair on, 
 dear. I assure you I am nothing to the rest of 
 -us. And besides, I was only talking d la Harry 
 and Sandy. They would say ' the old josser ' and 
 I was showing you them talking behind our backs. 
 I know how they would do it exactly. And don't 
 you imagine you have kept uncle Jo dark. Not 
 quite. They know all about it " 
 
 " Know all about it ! " faintly.
 
 102 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " Who he is, what he was, and what he has. 
 They know that he runs us two," 
 
 "'Kunsus'! " 
 
 " The whole show knows it," waving her hand 
 round about. " My dear lady, Harry asked me 
 one day straight out, if it wasn't so ? " 
 
 "And you told him ? " 
 
 "Of course I told him. Why shouldn't I? 
 None of us mind those sort of things. You are so 
 awfully old-fashioned " 
 
 Old-fashioned ? Lady Harborough recovered 
 herself. To be old-fashioned was creditable and 
 respectable. She had no sort of objection to 
 being old-fashioned ; and if it were true that the 
 present generation — she struggled with herself, 
 wondering if she should ever be able to cope with 
 the present generation ? 
 
 " It does seem all very strange to me," she said, 
 with a sigh which was not quite natural, but good 
 imitation — " but I have lived so long out of the 
 world (she had never till within recent years lived 
 in it) that you will have to be my instructor, I 
 suppose. At any rate about the young people. 
 So you think they are all greedy, calculating, and 
 vulgar? " with some bitterness. 
 
 " Not all. I think there are some very nice
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 103 
 
 ones. But they don't ask me to marry them — for 
 that reason." 
 
 " Good Gracious, child ! " A desperate fear 
 entered into the parent's heart. She had heard 
 that plebeian birth, that sometimes it was allowed 
 some weight in the scale ; and since this rude, 
 coarse Sir Harry had had the impertinence to 
 enquire of poor Mary to her own face as to the 
 financial arrangements of the family, to what 
 other lengths might he not have gone ? 
 
 It was true that nothing he had heard had kept 
 him back ; but this was not to say he might not 
 have spread abroad enough that was most unfor- 
 tunately true about the beautiful and prospec- 
 tively rich Miss Harborough, to deter more 
 eligible and disinterested men. 
 
 Mary herself appeared quite indifferent. 
 " There is nothing against me," she said, 
 frankly, "I'm all right. Only the men I know 
 aren't the kind that fall in love ; and if they 
 were, I don't suppose there is anything in me to 
 fall in love with. I'm just like other girls. It 
 doesn't in the least matter if you're good-looking 
 or bad-looking now-a-days. All you've got to do 
 is to dress, and when you're dressed, to talk, and 
 be smart, and know about things. I can do it —
 
 104 SIR PATRTCK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 but SO can we all. Vi Chippenham is awfully 
 ugly really, but she gets on as well as any of us, 
 and whacks about everywhere, holding her head 
 up, and giving herself the airs of a beauty. That 
 girl has more men round her than — well, than 
 I have ; " said Mary, laughing. 
 
 " Nonsense ; " said her mother, angrily. 
 
 "It's true. And I'll tell you— I think it's 
 partly," she hesitated, "Vi sticks at nothing, 
 and— and I do. She said once I was bourgeois " 
 
 "What?" A stab shot through Lady Har- 
 borough's veins. 
 
 " I wouldn't laugh at something, and I wouldn't 
 pretend to laugh. Never mind what it was ; you 
 wouldn't understand ; but they all thought it very 
 funny, and I thought it disgusting. Vi was per- 
 fectly furious at this ; and she thought she'd take 
 it out of me, so what do you think she said, turn- 
 ing round to the rest : ' The middle-classes are 
 more particular than we are.' It was a nasty 
 one." 
 
 " What — what did you say ? " 
 
 " I said — I'm afraid you won't like it, mother 
 dear," — Lady Harborough put out her hand and 
 took the slim, pretty hand which lay upon the 
 cushion by her side, she was not often called
 
 HOBSON'S CHOICE 105 
 
 ' Mother dear ' — " you know I never mean really 
 to vex you," continued the girl, with a flush of 
 earnestness, "but I couldn't help myself. I 
 should have felt so mean if I had let it pass." 
 
 " So you said ? " 
 
 "I said: 'If that's the case I'm glad I have 
 some middle-class blood in me, and I only wish 
 I had more of it than I have.' " 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 " She said " A pause. 
 
 " You can tell me what she said, Mary." Lady 
 Harborough spoke rather low, but steadily. 
 
 " You mustn't mind, mother : I tell you they all 
 know. Only no one but Vi Chippenham would 
 have said it out. When I ' wished I had more 
 of it ' — it was awfully foolish of me to say that, 
 but I hadn't a moment to think, and it just let 
 that girl in — she said, quick as lightning : ' About 
 equal parts, isn't it ? ' and laughed in my face." 
 
 There was a long silence, the eyes of both upon 
 the floor. Then Lady Harborough slowly rose to 
 leave the room. At the door she stood still for 
 a moment, the handle between her fingers : 
 " Mary," she murmured, her lips trembling and 
 her cheek slightly flushing as she spoke, " did 
 you mind much, Mary?"
 
 10(i STPi PATRICK: TITE PUDDOCK 
 
 There was a quick step behind, an arm was 
 round her neck, and a kiss upon her cheek. 
 
 "Except for your sake, I didn't mind a two- 
 penny — ahem ! " cried she, gaily. " There now ; 
 if that doesn't vindicate my bhie blood on one 
 side of the house, what would ? Honour bright, 
 my dear mother. I have always wished you 
 
 would allow me not to be ashamed of " she 
 
 stopped. 
 
 "Of me, Mary?" 
 
 " Of your family. Of dear uncle Jo, and all the 
 rest of them." 
 
 " There is no ' rest ' my dear," with a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 " There was, once, and people know it. They 
 don't speak of it, of course, except in a fight, as 
 that girl did ; — but they know it, all the same. 
 And though there's no need to thrust it down 
 their throats, why should you and I — what I 
 mean is, let us be honest ; don't let us pretend 
 to be what we are not, and don't let us mind 
 when we're known for what we are. And one 
 day you'll let me go and visit uncle Jo, won't 
 you?"
 
 CHAPTEK V 
 
 "SOPHY— MY NIECE, MISS HARBOROUGH" 
 
 A LL this time Jonathan has been sitting, 
 somewhat ill-manneredly we must confess, 
 glowering at Sir Patrick, and biting his finger- 
 nails, so that the best disposed of his fellow 
 mortals would scarcely have supposed him to be 
 engaged — actually engaged at the very moment 
 of his looking so surly and disagreeable — in 
 mental projects for the benefit of The Pud- 
 dock. 
 
 The Puddock sat on a low seat, and looked 
 up at his friends. He never thought of himself 
 and his appearance, or he would not have chosen 
 that seat. It made him seem broader and squarer 
 than usual ; it brought into prominence his thick, 
 short feet and heavy shoulders. As his eyes were 
 lifted, one saw that they were large, soft, and 
 bright — but again they had something of the 
 
 107
 
 108 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 protruding fulness of the homely creature whom 
 he was supposed to resemble. 
 
 (" Gracious me ! he needn't have squatted 
 down there ! " inwardly exclaimed the lady 
 who favoured him, thinking of the lady who 
 did not. "There are plenty of good chairs?") 
 " Won't you take a more comfortable seat, Sir 
 Patrick?" said she, aloud. 
 
 Sir Patrick thanked her, but was very well 
 where he was. 
 
 " You're right in the draught ; " she tried, next. 
 " Draught ? Oh ! " Sir Patrick glanced round 
 with a laugh ; "I am always in a draught ; I live 
 in a draught. If I did not insist on opening every 
 chink at Kinellan, I should choke. Walls seven 
 feet thick don't allow of much circulation of air, 
 especially when you have servants whose chief 
 end in life it seems to be to keep out what little 
 there is." 
 
 " Servants are very troublesome," said Mrs. 
 Mercer, placidly. 
 
 " I have found a cure for that," replied he, with 
 a sly look. 
 
 " Indeed ? A cure ? What is it ? " 
 " Let them do whatever they like, and then 
 undo it myself when I get ihe chance,"
 
 "SOPHY— MY NIECE, MISS HARBOEOUGH " 109 
 
 " But dear me, Sir Patrick," said Mrs. Mercer, 
 when the laugh occasioned by this sally had sub- 
 sided, " that is rather a roundabout way to take. 
 It sounds a little as if you were — it sounds rather 
 like a bachelor master," archly. " I doubt if it 
 would answer were there a mistress in the case." 
 " So Selina tells me. She looks askance upon 
 my domestic regime. I'm bound to say I fancy 
 the feeling is reciprocated." 
 
 " Mrs. Kinellan said she thought you ought to 
 have a house in Town," put in a new voice, as 
 Sophy thought she had been out of the conver- 
 sation long enough. " Why don't you. Sir 
 Patrick?" 
 
 " They wouldn't let me, Miss Sophy." 
 "They? Who?" 
 
 " Macallum and Mrs. Macallum : Macdougall 
 and Tom Macdougall : Old Maclachlan and 
 young Maclachlan. My tyrants generally." 
 
 "Do you mean your servants^ Do you let 
 them say what you are to do, and what you are 
 not to do ?" 
 
 "There is no 'letting' required, I assure you. 
 Occasionally I obtain permission to run off for 
 a week or two in the summer to hear a few- 
 operas, and see a few pictures, and bring back
 
 110 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 word about the Crystal Palace Horse Show — once 
 I was allowed to buy a couple of horses after it — 
 but it is as much as my place is worth to outstay 
 my leave of absence. Macallum takes a return 
 ticket for me." 
 
 " Mrs. Mercer, does he mean it? " 
 
 "I doubt he is laughing at us, Sophy." The 
 two regarded their romancist with somewhat 
 doubtful smiles. 
 
 " Indeed, I am doing nothing of the sort," pro- 
 tested he, stoutly. " You should hear my sister- 
 in-law on the subject, and I declare she does not 
 know the half. I keep it from her — half my time 
 is spent in keeping it — how well I am under the 
 household thumb. She thinks it is only within 
 the walls of Kinellan, and she frets and fumes at 
 that. Between ourselves, Miss Sophy, I do a 
 little laughing in my sleeve occasionally ; and 
 my good old faithful creatures know it, and are 
 as stubborn as mules — even my brother has a 
 laugh with me in private over it all — but I 
 believe his wife would cry aloud to the house- 
 tops if she knew that it is Macdougall (who loves 
 the sea,) who tells me that I want to go fishing, 
 and his son Tom (who is a good shot,) who drags 
 me up the heights after the ptarmigan."
 
 "SOPHY— MY NIECE, MISS HARBOEOUGH " 111 
 
 " They take you when you don't want to go ? " 
 cried Sophy, staring. 
 
 "Even so," said Sir Patrick, mildly. 
 
 " Well, if they were my servants " 
 
 "Wliat would 3^ou do?" said he, with some 
 curiosity. 
 
 " Send every one of them out of the 
 house." 
 
 " It would be your only chance of a quiet life," 
 said Sir Patrick, rising to go. " But as you see, 
 the spirit of resistance has been crushed out of 
 me ; and even now I am trembling lest an angry 
 gong should wake the echoes of the glen before 
 I have reached a certain boundary line within 
 which I must be at a given time before dinner. 
 If I am not there, there will be faces at every 
 window, and the great Macallum in swollen fury 
 and distended dignity upon the doorstep. I tried 
 once to sneak in by another door, but he headed 
 me off before I could reach my own staircase. I 
 shall never resort to stratagem with Macallum 
 again." 
 
 He took his leave, and Mrs. Mercer turned to 
 her husband. 
 
 " Sir Patrick can be very amusing," she said, 
 " but though one needn't take all he says for
 
 112 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 gospel, it does seem to me that he badly wants 
 a wife, and his house a mistress." 
 
 " It does seem to me then," quoth Jonathan, 
 drily, "that it's odd he should have waited till we 
 came to find out his wants — supposing he has 
 found them out." 
 
 " Did you hear what he was saying? " 
 
 " I heard a mumbling. I didn't hear what 
 about." 
 
 " Because you would stay so far away. You 
 should have come over here and sat among us. 
 Sir Patrick was quite talkative." 
 
 "I never heard anything like him," chimed in 
 Sophy. 
 
 Mrs. Mercer's brow smoothed with benignity. 
 She primmed up her mouth and bridled. " It 
 isn't always the best-looking men — I had rather 
 any day have a pleasant companion than a fine 
 figure-head with nothing in his noddle." 
 
 " That's a compliment to me," observed 
 Jonathan. He was determined not to see what 
 she was aiming at. " She never pretended she 
 thought me a beauty," to Sophy, "but I cut out 
 the dandies with her, all the same. What's your 
 opinion, young lady?" And he shot a quick, 
 shrewd, investigating glance.
 
 "SOPHY— MY NIECE, MISS HARBOROUGH" 113 
 
 " Now for it ; " thought Mrs. Mercer, — but she 
 on her part would not look. After what had 
 already passed, she had no desire to force the 
 situation. Bear in mind that it was only a few 
 hours since Sophy had hated ugly men. 
 
 " I — I don't think it much matters," faltered 
 she. 
 
 "Gad! She's throwing her fly already!" 
 ejaculated Jonathan Mercer under his breath. 
 
 Then all in a moment he bustled out of the 
 room, and was heard asking Thomas, the under 
 footman, if the post had gone ? It had not, and 
 Thomas was desired to go to the library for a 
 letter before it did. 
 
 In the course of the evening, the old gentle- 
 man thus addressed his wife. "You were think- 
 ing of taking a trip to Oban one day this week, 
 weren't you? " 
 
 "If the weather keeps fine," replied she. "I 
 have promised Sophy a Scotch frock," — ("Which 
 Sophy came precious near losing," mentally com- 
 mented that damsel). — " She did not expect to be 
 here in October," pursued her kind patroness, 
 " and it is often chilly in October. You are not 
 in a hurry to go back to Dove Hall are you, my 
 dear?" 
 
 9
 
 114 yiPt PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " Not at all," said he, grinning to himself. 
 " So long as you are content, I am." 
 
 " The place suits us both, I fancy, Jonathan." 
 " Down to the ground," replied he. 
 " And Sophy says she's delighted." 
 Sophy showed a ' delighted ' expression. 
 " So I don't see that we need be moving," 
 pursued the wily old lady, thinking how clever 
 she was. " Sir Patrick was saying only the 
 other day that it is a pity everybody flies off 
 from the Highlands just when they are at their 
 best. They are never at their best in the shoot- 
 ing season — for people who don't shoot, at least. 
 August is pretty nearly alwaj^s a wet month. Sir 
 Patrick says." 
 
 " It was a fine month enough this year." 
 
 " So it was. But Sir Patrick says " 
 
 " He seems to have said a good deal." For 
 the life of him Jonathan could not suppress the 
 interruption. No husband likes to have another 
 man quoted out of all reason, and what with 
 barometers, rain-gauges, and his own incessant 
 observations, why should old Jo Mercer not be 
 permitted to know as much about the weather 
 as other folks? Even his gardeners and fisher- 
 men did not offer their opinion on this subject
 
 "SOPHY- MY NTECE, MISS HARBOROUGH " 115 
 
 too freely, perceiving whom they had to deal 
 with; while only that day one of them had 
 asked him — aye, and asked with every appear- 
 ance of interest, not to say anxiety, what ' the 
 glass ' said ? It was ridiculous to thrust Sir 
 Patrick down his throat after such a compH- 
 ment from Mungo McTaggart — Mungo, who 
 had lived all his life upon the place. 
 
 "I should hope I know a blue sky when I see 
 it, as well as Sir Patrick Eanellan," proceeded he, 
 testily, "and it isn't quite the first autumn I've 
 spent in the Highlands " 
 
 " Not in the West, my dear." 
 
 "West? What's West? Don't make Sir 
 Patrick out a fool. He's well enough; a sharp 
 little body, and " 
 
 " Good gracious, Jonathan ! " Reproach and 
 consternation caused Mrs. Mercer's rich silk dress 
 to rustle all over, as she moved irrepressibly in 
 her chair — ("Little body!" she muttered to 
 herself). What girl, already only half recon- 
 ciled to a lover's appearance, or lack of appear- 
 ance, could hear him called a " Little body " 
 without its taking effect? 
 
 " I think you're quite rude," said she, redden- 
 ing. "Tall or short, what does it matter?
 
 116 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 You're none so tall yourself, but I wonder how 
 you would feel if you heard yourself called a 
 
 'Little body.' Sophy, give me that— that " 
 
 She wanted nothing, but she must have a look 
 at Sophy, and pointed impatiently with her 
 finger into vacancy. 
 
 " What is it, aunt Louisa ? " said Sophy, 
 innocently. 
 
 "Can't you see, child? The — the screen, of 
 
 course. These enormous fires " 
 
 " Oh, to be sure ; " said Sophy, hastening up. 
 The screen was carefully adjusted, and a foot- 
 stool for aunt Louisa's feet thrown in. No one 
 could pay such little attentions more dutifully 
 and handily than Miss Sophy ; and as she now 
 took up the old lady's knitting, and proceeded to 
 point out sundry dropped stitches which in the 
 heat of the argument had slipped the needle, her 
 face close as it was to the electric lamp, and 
 pitilessly exposed to the scrutiny of both her 
 companions, betrayed no emotion of any kind. 
 " She must have heard ; " thought they. 
 But they could not be sure. They often 
 fancied Sophy was a little deaf. Certainly she 
 was not inconveniently quick of hearing ; ' ' And 
 really with a man who blurts out everything that
 
 "SOPHY— MY NIECE, MISS HARBOROUGH " 117 
 
 comes into his head, it's a blessing to have some 
 one who never puts herself about to listen, at 
 any rate ; " Jonathan's more prudent spouse more 
 than once congratulated herself. 
 
 Each, however, now thought that enough had 
 been said, Mr. Mercer to disparage The Pud- 
 dock, Mrs. Mercer to defend him, — and by 
 common consent they reverted to the subject 
 which had occupied them before his name 
 entered into the conversation. 
 
 " Since you and Sir Patrick have settled it 
 between you that the weather is to be fine," 
 said Jonathan, sarcastically, " perhaps you'll 
 let me know when you've fixed your day for 
 Oban? Captain Binks likes to get his orders 
 in good time, and we haven't been out lately." 
 
 " Why not go to-morrow, Jonathan ? " 
 
 "To-morrow? That's sharp practice. I — I 
 don't know that I am exactly wanting to go 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " The next day, then ? " 
 
 "Or Friday? I may have business in Oban 
 on Friday. Some one to meet perhaps? (She 
 certainly can't come before Friday; " calculated 
 he, inwardly). 
 
 And when Friday was agreed upon, he
 
 118 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 chuckled. All would fall out easily, naturally, 
 unsuspiciously. He pictured the explanation 
 scene, and heard his own voice talking. 
 
 He had taken a fancy to send for his niece, 
 and to make her coming a pleasant surprise. 
 Losca Castle was a big place to be wasted on 
 three people; and having one girl, he had had 
 the happy thought of getting down another for 
 company. 
 
 And of course he could not have Miss Har- 
 borough sooner ; that was not to be expected. 
 Miss Harborough — (the speaker was wont to 
 breathe audibly, and speak through his nose 
 with a peculiar intonation when Miss Har- 
 borough was his theme) — she was far too 
 much sought after, run after, hurried after, 
 for ordinary folks to have a chance while the 
 great rush was on. He had waited for a slack 
 time. October was a slack time as times went 
 with the Harboroughs. They were always in 
 request — but he believed there was a chance, a 
 bare chance that they might be caught in October. 
 
 He heard himself saying it all ; the beginning 
 part for his wife's benefit, the remainder for that 
 of Sophy Gill and Sir Patrick Kinellan. 
 
 For Sir Patrick he would also add a codicil.
 
 "SOPHY— MY NIECE, MISS HAKBOROUGH" 119 
 
 He had but to say openly — though by way of 
 confidentially — that his niece would eventually 
 inherit all his wealth, to feel safe from any 
 aspiration in that quarter. " Little Stumpy 's 
 honest as the day," reflected he. " He may 
 talk big about the weather, and like to have 
 the women thinking that he knows a lot more 
 about it than the rest of us do, — but that's 
 the worst you can say of him. To tell him 
 about the money would put the muzzle on at 
 once. He's a good, good sort," slowly. " Too 
 good for that Sophy creature ; almost — but not 
 quite good enough for Miss Mary Harborough. 
 Mary must have a duke. Or, an earl would do. 
 We can't let her go beneath an earl. x\nd why?" 
 banging his fist upon the table. " Because, sir," 
 addressing an imaginary audience, " beauty and 
 money is a combination so scarce that it can 
 command the market. It can, and it shall. 
 Mary's a nice girl too ; " he added, with a sudden 
 drop to an everyday voice. 
 
 He would have thought so afresh had he 
 witnessed the reception of his missive in 
 Deanery Street. 
 
 " I'm going ; " said Mary, looking at her mother 
 with decision.
 
 120 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 "You must go, you have no choice. "When 
 uncle Jo puts down his foot, it is no use to 
 struggle. But it is very inconvenient and 
 tiresome." 
 
 " Not at all ; " said Marj-, gaily. " Not at all 
 inconvenient — nor tiresome. ^Vhy shouldn't 
 uncle Jo wsjit me? And I would rather go 
 now than at any other time." 
 
 "Do you really mean if?" said her ladyship, 
 incredulously. " Of course it is better than if 
 they had a houseful of tiresome nobodies, people 
 of their own class — now don't look at me," 
 breaking off with an air of vexation. "And it 
 is not true, Mary. I never did belong to your 
 uncle Jonathan's class. I was quite a little, little 
 thing, when he rose in the world " 
 
 "And took care of you, and educated j'ou, and 
 did everything for you, didn't he ? " 
 
 Lady Harborough coloiu'ed fretfully. "You 
 always speak as if I ^^'ished to disparage my 
 poor brother. How can you fancy such a 
 thing? I am extremely fond of him, as indeed 
 I may well be ; but you can see for yourself 
 that he is not — not quite like the people we 
 are accustomed to meet." 
 
 This was true ; Mary could not deny it.
 
 "SOPHY— MY NIECE, MISS HAEBOEOUGH" 121 
 
 "It was very much to his credit," Lady 
 Harborough pursued her advantage, " that he 
 should by his own unaided exertions — for he 
 had no help from anybody — have reached such 
 a position as he holds now ; and still more that 
 from the very first he lifted me, a poor helpless 
 little thing, along with him ; — but Mary, my 
 dear, though it would be most ungrateful 
 and unnatural for me to feel anything but — 
 but " 
 
 " You never seem to care to see him." 
 
 " Care to — to see him," stammering a little. 
 
 " Well, yes ; " said Mary, briskly. " I know 
 you write ; and I suppose you gush in your 
 letters ; and you tell me that we ought to be 
 grateful and that sort of thing, — but when 
 uncle Jo says he's coming here, or wants me 
 to go there, you always look terribly blank. 
 Oh, you do," forestalHng a disclaimer; "you 
 try to pump up a little affection and welcome 
 when the time comes, — but you wish it wasn't 
 needed. You would like him just to write, and 
 send cheques " 
 
 "Oh, Mary!" 
 
 " Now if I had a brother," said Mary, " I don't 
 believe I should care what he was like. If he
 
 122 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 was good and kind, and fond of me, I would want 
 him to be always with me ; I would go to his 
 places, and take him to mine ; we would go about 
 together, and sit and talk together, and tell each 
 other everything " 
 
 " Stop a moment," said Lady Harborough, 
 eagerly. "That sounds very well, and no doubt 
 you mean it, and perhaps would do it — under 
 certain circumstances. But put away the 
 imaginary brother from your thoughts for a 
 minute, and j)u.t your uncle Jonathan in his 
 place. Can you honestly say that you would 
 wish to take such an uncle — such a brother, I 
 should say— to the houses we visit, to the places 
 we go to ? Would you like to introduce him at 
 our parties as your nearest relation ? It is easy 
 to make up a pretty picture of brother and sister, 
 when you can concoct the brother for yourself, 
 but — and he is so many years older too," she 
 murmured in somewhat lame conclusion. 
 
 "I suppose — perhaps — that is it," reluctantly 
 conceded Mary. " Still it does seem hard that 
 if it hadn't been for him you would never have 
 known enough to be ashamed of him." 
 
 A pause ensued. The truth thus frankly stated 
 was unanswerable.
 
 "SOPHY— MY NIECE, MISS HARBOROUGH " 123 
 
 "Well, what about Losca?" Mary having 
 said her say, which indeed she had said before 
 more than once, recovered her good humour ; 
 " what about Losca? " 
 
 But her mother's conscience still pricking, she 
 made answer somewhat bitterly. " It does not 
 seem to me there is any need to ask about Losca. 
 You and your uncle have settled it between you." 
 
 ** We have, but about you ? " 
 
 ** Me? I am not invited." 
 
 '* What will you do ? Where will you go ? " 
 
 " That apparently is of little consequence. I 
 can be disposed of. I can remain here, " 
 
 *' Here ? In London, in October ? " 
 
 "Why not? Your uncle has provided a roof 
 over my head " 
 
 " Don't be cross, dear; and don't visit my sins 
 on uncle Jo's head. I couldn't help saying it, 
 because I do think — but after all, of course — any- 
 how he never complains. And if you don't want 
 him, you can't make yourself want him. Per- 
 haps he doesn't want you," she added laughing, 
 "as he has not invited you ; but I am sure he 
 would never dream of your moping here by your- 
 self ; he thinks you have heaps of friends who 
 would be only too delighted to have you."
 
 124 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " I don't know that they would. Without you, 
 what am I ? Only your mother." 
 
 Eventually, however, she recollected certain 
 dull houses upon which Mary would be wasted, 
 but where she herself could vegetate, wear her 
 old clothes, go to bed early, and give her maid a 
 rest — and from these a selection was made. 
 
 " And mind you give your uncle my love, and 
 say he mustn't keep you too long," said she, at 
 parting. "You must be back for the Middle- 
 field's Hunt Ball at any rate. I know Lady 
 Middlefield intends to ask us ; and we could 
 start from there upon a round — but I won't bore 
 you with plans at present ; we can wait and see 
 what turns up. The only fixture shall be the 
 Milborough Ball ; and it can be used to extract 
 you from Losca. A fortnight of Losca is as 
 much as you would care for, or your uncle 
 expect." 
 
 " All right ; " said Mary, amicably. She thought 
 so herself. 
 
 But she meant to enjoy her fortnight. It was 
 such fun to be dashing north just when every 
 one else was dashing south ; such a joke to 
 be going all alone, to uncle Jo and aunt Lou in 
 their vulgar grandeur, and to run wild without
 
 "SOPHY— MY NIECE, MISS HARBOEOUGH" 125 
 
 a soul to speak to but the two poor old dears. 
 (Jonathan had suppressed Sophy.) 
 
 She was not afraid of being dull ; she looked 
 forward to it. She would be out of doors from 
 morning to night — out on the shore before 
 breakfast. 
 
 And of course she would climb the hills — climb 
 every hill within reach. She would fish and 
 shoot — no, by the way, the shooting might not 
 be feasible, seeing it was October, or nearly 
 October, and besides her uncle had no moor 
 — (Jonathan was sick of moors) — but fish she 
 should and would. 
 
 Every brawling stream by whose banks the 
 panting train groaned and toiled — " Is it all 
 uphill ? " she wondered occasionally — was eyed 
 by our youthful traveller with enthusiasm. How 
 clear and brown and rushing the water looked ! 
 How brilliant were the scarlet rowan-trees which 
 fringed its way. Here and there was a blue 
 tarn, set in peat bogs nearly black. Then a real 
 lake would glitter and lose itself far away in the 
 background. To crown all, at one point, there 
 was a powdering of frost, and a range of 
 jutting peaks sparkled like diamonds in the 
 sun.
 
 126 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDr,OCK 
 
 Mary Harborough stood at the open window, 
 the sohtary occupant of her carriage ; having 
 bundled her good old Sarah in elsewhere, that 
 she might be alone, and draw deep breaths of 
 freedom and delight. 
 
 " Oh, why have I never had this before '? " she 
 cried half aloud, " I might have had it. Not 
 without a fight perhaps, but it would have been 
 worth a fight. It is splendid. It is glorious." 
 And though beforehand she had been urgent for 
 solitude, she now almost wished there had been 
 some one to whom she could be rapturous. An 
 immature and inconsistent creature was Mary. 
 
 But at least she was sincere. She was no 
 paragon. Not at all clever, not in the least 
 profound, nor even very sensible — it is cruel to be 
 so plain-spoken, but for once the truth about a 
 beauty and an heiress must out — and for all her 
 lovehness, and the upward cast of her beautiful 
 eyes, we have before us a very ordinary and 
 sadly unromantic girl, who only knew what she 
 could not help knowing, and whose crass igno- 
 rance on every subject outside the range of her 
 own daily life, would have petrified a school 
 inspector. 
 
 It was Lady Harborough's private opinion that
 
 "SOPHY— MY NIECE, MISS HAEBOEOUGH " 127 
 
 only the daughters of very great ladies could 
 afford to be thought clever and cultivated. 
 
 " Oh, if she doesn't care for it ; " said Jonathan, 
 who had hinted at a better education. Even he 
 had been somevi^hat surprised at the hash his 
 fine niece made of a French letter which he had 
 produced on one occasion. He had business 
 deahngs with French houses. 
 
 Mary, however, disposed of the letter without 
 hesitation. She could not read it, but no other 
 girls of her set could. 
 
 And she owned frankly she did not care for 
 books, she did not care for pictures, she did not 
 care for music. 
 
 " I suppose she's just taken up with her looks 
 and her dress ; " was Mrs. Mercer's conclusion. 
 
 But in this, she did my heroine injustice. 
 Taken up with her dress she was to a certain 
 extent, but no girl of her acquaintance, no girl 
 •perhaps in all London thought less about her 
 appearance than did Mary Harborough. 
 
 Will any of her plainer sisters believe this? 
 Sophy Gill's heart sank within her when Mary 
 walked in at the door. Sophy had for hours been 
 dressing and re-dressing; changing this and that; 
 worrying over her hair ; wondering if she should
 
 128 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 be in her hat, or out of it, if she should be in 
 house-attire, or affect to have just come in from 
 the garden ? 
 
 The day proving wet and cold despite Sir 
 Patrick's prognostications, the expedition to 
 Oban had been abandoned by the ladies, and 
 Jonathan had found himself obliged to tell what 
 took him there in a piteous deluge. 
 
 Towards evening, the sky cleared, however, 
 and the yacht could be discerned as far off as 
 Lismore, steaming gaily home, wind and tide 
 with her. 
 
 "It is almost a pity we didn't go," said Mrs, 
 Mercer, who was a fair sailor. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," said Sophy, who was a 
 bad one. " The yacht is tossing a good deal," 
 appended she, presently. 
 
 " Poor thing ! She won't like it ; " Mrs. Mercer 
 looked from the window over the white-capped 
 sea. " And coming on the top of her journey too. 
 Perhaps she'll want to go to her room at once. 
 You ordered a fire, Sophy ? " 
 
 Sophy nodded. The yacht was rounding the 
 headland. 
 
 Now she could see figures on the deck. Now 
 bustle, now the slowing of the motion, the stop-
 
 "SOPHY— MY NIECE, MISS HAEBOKOUGH " 129 
 
 page, the lowering of the boat, two female figures 
 being assisted down the side — " You have good 
 eyes, my dear ; " Mrs. Mercer, glasses and all, was 
 still glad to be told precisely what was going on 
 — " and now, now you can see for yourself," 
 cried her informant, as the boat with rapid 
 strokes approached the landing place. " She's 
 sitting with uncle Jonathan in the stern, and her 
 maid is on his other side. And there's her 
 
 luggage piled up in the bow " the speaker 
 
 broke off suddenly. " What a delightful lot of 
 luggage ! " murmured she to herself. 
 
 Oh, to be going about with a maid, and a lot of 
 luggage, and to have everybody fussing over you, 
 and making things pleasant for you, and taking 
 it as a compliment your coming ! Mr. Mercer 
 would never have undertaken a wet, rough cross- 
 ing, risking a night of rheumatism after it, on 
 her account. Mrs. Mercer would not have 
 altered the dinner hour ; though she might have 
 remembered fires in the bedrooms. There was a 
 deference about their present preparations which 
 extended even to the post-bag, and kept it hang- 
 ing in the hall beyond its usual time, in case 
 Miss Harborough might care to communicate 
 with her mother. 
 
 10
 
 130 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " If I married that Puddock, post-bags would 
 wait for me too," meditated Sophy. 
 
 Then Mary Harborough emerged to view, clad 
 in a long, light, travelling coat. " I could have a 
 coat like that," thought Sophy. 
 
 The new-comer looked up at the windows and 
 waved her hand. 
 
 " And I should wave my hand, and march up 
 as if the whole place belonged to me, and take 
 Mr. Mercer by the arm, and pat Bruno — heigho ! 
 how nice it would be," with a half sigh. "But 
 anyhow I'm glad she's come ; " recovering. "As 
 there are only we two, she must be friends ; 
 and " 
 
 "And here is Miss Sophy," said her host 
 bustling in — Mrs. Mercer had been met in the 
 hall. "You see, you have not only the old folks to 
 depend upon ; and — and Losca Castle and all 
 that it contains is very much at your service, my 
 dear. Sophy — my niece. Miss Harborough." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the pride with 
 which he said it, the ease vrith which she ac- 
 cepted it. A thousand miles could not more 
 effectually have separated the two thus addressed, 
 than the simple words " Sophy " and " My niece, 
 Miss Harborough."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A MEETING IN THE WILDS 
 
 "T MET Sir Patrick Kinellan;" said Mary, 
 coming into the dining-room, where the 
 other three were assembled for luncheon on the 
 following day. "Am I late?" looking round. 
 "I'm so sorry;" seating herself, and beginning 
 to pull off her gloves. "I went to explore, you 
 know ; you promised that I should explore all by 
 myself, uncle ; so I thought I might as well begin 
 at once, and the very first thing I explored was — 
 Sir Patrick. Yes, please, some pheasant." 
 
 And the heavens did not fall ! 
 
 Not once had the name that was in everybody's 
 mind crossed a single lip since the arrival of the 
 day before. 
 
 By a kind of tacit consent all reference to Sir 
 Patrick Kinellan had been avoided, and though 
 he had by this time come to figure so largely in
 
 132 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 the thoughts both of Mr. Mercer and his wife, to 
 say nothing of Sophy, that it had seemed once 
 or twice as if he must be just mentioned if no 
 more, an extraordinary reluctance curbed the 
 utterances of all three. 
 
 Mr. Mercer did indeed once go so far as to 
 murmur an indistinct allusion to a ' bachelor 
 neighbour,' starting guiltily as he did so — but 
 either the phrase escaped notice, or excited no 
 curiosity. Mary was busy with a peach, and gave 
 it her entire attention. 
 
 Again, during the evening Mrs. Mercer, apolo- 
 gising for the absence of gaiety in their surround- 
 ings, found herself assuring her niece that a 
 fortnight before they had been gay enough. 
 
 "Were you?" said Mary, indifferently. Pri- 
 vately she was congratulating herself. AVhat had 
 she not escaped ? 
 
 "And never even to ask who we were gay 
 with ! " mentally exclaimed Sophy Gill, whom 
 such indifference puzzled and awed. "I wonder 
 what she will say when she comes to hear about 
 
 The Puddock ! I do wish — I do loish " 
 
 she almost felt she hated The Puddock. 
 
 " Yes, fancy meeting a man I know, the first 
 thing in the wilds! " ran on the speaker, for be
 
 A MEETING IN THE WILDS I'd'S 
 
 it remembered, she had only stopped to nod 
 towards the pheasant, " and the funny thing was 
 that he didn't know me;" looking round for 
 astonishment. "He called me ' Miss Arthur' — 
 it isn't unlike ' Harborough,' the sound isn't. I 
 remembered afterwards that he had called me 
 ' Miss Arthur ' all the day we spent together. 
 It was a river day, and there were a lot of people. 
 Well, when I saw him now, I said ' Hollo, Sir 
 Patrick ! ' for I knew him in a second, and I do 
 think it was rather sharp of me, considering I 
 never saw him afterwards, and it is months ago. 
 quite early in the season it was, — but I assure 
 you, uncle Jo, he nearly had a fit : " laughing at 
 the recollection, as she helped, herself to potatoes. 
 
 " And when he found I was your niece,' 
 continued she, 
 
 "How did you never tell us you knew him?" 
 Mr. Mercer had planted a heavy hand upon the 
 table on either side of his plate ; and with a frown 
 upon his brow, put the interrogation as a judge 
 might ask a criminal what he had to say before 
 the black cap was put on. 
 
 Mrs. Mercer was breathing rapidly at the other 
 end of the table, and Sophy the picture of self- 
 consciousness, blushed all over.
 
 134 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " I think it is very strange you should never 
 have told us you knew Sir Patrick," proceeded 
 Jonathan, solemnly. 
 
 "Is it? Let me see. Why didn't I? I'm 
 sure I can't imagine; " contentedly eating away. 
 
 " You knew he lived here." 
 
 "No, that I didn't. Stop a bit though, I 
 believe I did." 
 
 " On this very island. Within four miles of 
 this house, " 
 
 " But I forgot, uncle. And I didn't know about 
 the miles, anyway." 
 
 "Forgot? All this time?" said Jonathan, 
 incredulously. His own memory was as de- 
 pendable as a rock. 
 
 " You can't call it 'All this time,' " pleaded she. 
 " I saw the man once ; and he thought I was 
 ' Miss Arthur ' ; so he was worse than I anyhow," 
 laughing again. 
 
 "But did he not tell you Kinellan was near 
 Losca?" persisted her uncle, reddening a little. 
 Perhaps Sir Patrick had not cared to mention the 
 fact. 
 
 " Oh, he might — but I don't see why he should. 
 He knew nothing about me and Losca. Don't 
 you see he thought I was * Miss Arthur,' (this
 
 A MEETING IN THE WILDS 135 
 
 had stuck by her) and what had a ' Miss Arthur ' 
 to do with a Mr. Mercer?" merrily. "We just 
 met and made friends, as people in London do, 
 for the day. I remember he was awfully gone on 
 me— his ' Miss Arthur.' " 
 
 " You ought to have told him your name ; " said 
 Jonathan, surlily. " I've no notion of girls liking 
 to be called by wrong names." His sense of 
 honesty was affronted ; and besides, was there 
 not a certain disrespect towards Miss liar- 
 borough, the great Miss Harborough, conveyed 
 in her being thus unrecognised and undistin- 
 guished ? 
 
 " Well, I never said I liked it, uncle;" said the 
 beauty, placidly. " I couldn't stop it, you know." 
 
 "You — couldn't stop it?" He was more and 
 more surprised. 
 
 " Oh, no. No, I couldn't." Mary shook her 
 head. Then, as he still stared at her, open- 
 mouthed. " It w^ould have spoilt the joke, you 
 know;" she explained. 
 
 " Pon my word I — do you see the joke, ma'am ? " 
 Suddenly Mr. Mercer appealed to his wife, his 
 look saying ' ' Ought I not to be angry ? Are you 
 angry?" 
 
 Had it been any one but Mary he would have
 
 136 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 been angry on the spot ; for a millionaire is a 
 millionaire, and it is not seemly that indignity 
 should be offered to any one connected with 
 him, of which indignity Sir Patrick had surely, 
 if unconsciously, been guilty — but as it was, he 
 was uneasily anxious to be backed up. 
 
 " Eh ? Do you see it ? " he repeated. 
 
 A new voice, however, intervened. "Why,/ 
 see it," cried Sophy Gill, shrilly. " I think it 
 must have been splendid. Do tell us the rest? 
 Did he call you ' Miss Arthur ' to-day ? And did 
 you call him " 
 
 "Hoots — nonsense!" said Jonathan, gruffly, 
 his temper was now roused, " I beg your pardon. 
 Miss Sophy, but you must excuse my saying that 
 I know the ways of the world a little better than 
 you do" — for the life of him he could not help a 
 slight accentuation on the 'You' — "and I think, 
 begging your pardon next, Mary, that you were — 
 were — that it was a bit of foohshness " 
 
 " I daresay, but it made a joke." Mary nodded 
 at him. "You don't know how thankful we are 
 for anything in the shape of a joke, in Town ; we 
 simply scream at nothing. ^Vhenever Sir Pat- 
 rick said ' Miss Arthur ' the girls screamed to 
 each other,"
 
 A MEETING IN THE WILDS 137 
 
 "What girls were they, my dear?" Mrs. 
 Mercer saw a hope of diverting the argument, 
 and seized upon it. 
 
 " The De Vesci girls, aunt. Lord De Vesci is 
 something or other to Sir Patrick." 
 
 "And he was staying with them ? " The old 
 lady glanced at her husband whose opinion of 
 the screaming girls would now have to be re-con- 
 sidered. It was obvious that he had been on the 
 brink of delivering it. 
 
 "I don't know;" said Mary, indifferently. 
 " They brought him ; but I don't know where 
 they picked him up." 
 
 " I thought you said he was a relation ? " 
 
 " Some one said so. I don't know." The 
 cross - examination was beginning to bore 
 her. 
 
 "But mayn't we hear about to-day?" mur- 
 mured Sophy, in subdued accents. She had 
 been snubbed, but she could stand snubbing ; and 
 she was dying to know, not whether an old 
 bygone mistake was funny or not, but what 
 Sir Patrick had said that day, how he had looked, 
 what Mary had thought of Inm, and in particular 
 if anything about herself had passed between the 
 two ?
 
 138 SIR PATEICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 If people would ramble off to other points, 
 how was she ever to get this out of Mary? 
 
 But now was her time ; the old people were 
 obviously impressed, and their questions at a 
 standstill, while a shade of impatience which 
 had manifested itself upon the brow of their 
 niece told its own tale. She had come in full of 
 narration and it had been nipped in the bud, — 
 what narrator would not resent this ? 
 
 Moreover Mary had a lively tongue and was 
 used to the run of it ; it was the one bond 
 between her and her mother that there was 
 frank, unrestrained intercourse between them, 
 and that even when they differed, not to say 
 bickered on occasion, they had it out, as the 
 saying is, and nothing rankled. 
 
 " Do let me tell my tale;" was therefore plainly 
 written now on our young lady's face, and Sophy 
 saw it and sympathised with it. Accordingly ; 
 her "Mayn't we hear?" breathed across the table, 
 came at the right moment and took instant effect. 
 
 " I had got to I don't know where," said Mary; 
 " I just followed my nose, and went straight on 
 away from here. It didn't matter where, I said to 
 myself ; I'll go where the road goes. It appears 
 there is only one road "
 
 A MEETING IN THE WILDS 139 
 
 " Did you expect a dozen ? " The interruption 
 of course was Jonathan's. 
 
 " Now, uncle, do be quiet. You have banged 
 into me enough already, and if you don't lei me 
 alone, I'll come round and hit you. No, of 
 course I didn't expect a dozen, but there's a 
 difference between a dozen and one. However, 
 it's a good road, though I thought it would never 
 end " 
 
 " Naturally, as it runs round the island." 
 
 " There you are again ! You won't be quiet, 
 sir ? " threatening to rise. " A plate at your head 
 will be the next thing; " seizing one. 
 
 He apologised, and she proceeded. 
 
 " On and on I went — yes, I know you're going 
 to say something but you'd better not, plate's 
 coming if you do — and at last after a terrific hill 
 — plate sir, plate — when I had struggled to the 
 top and was dead-beat, what did I behold to 
 make me forget all my woes and toils, but" — 
 she paused and cast her eyes round on each in 
 turn — " Guess," she cried. 
 
 " I suppose you saw the lodge gates of Kinellau 
 House?" observed Mrs. Mercer, demurely. 
 
 "Lodge gates? Nothing of the kind. Stop, 
 though. 1 might have seen them ; I saw them
 
 140 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOGK 
 
 afterwards. But anyhow they're not what I 
 mean. Guess, again." 
 
 " You saw the sea on the other side, if your 
 hill is the hill it ought to be," said her uncle. 
 " By the fuss you make about it " 
 
 "Plate, sir. Take care. / make a fuss? 
 Any one would have made a fuss. The sea ? 
 Well, I daresay I did see the sea — but the sea's 
 no catch, there's plenty of the sea about. Now 
 you guess," to Sophy. " Third time's lucky. 
 You'll hit the mark." 
 
 "You saw Sir Patrick Kinellan," quotli Sophy, 
 promptly, having divined as much all along. 
 
 " Hum ! You had nothing left but Sir Pat. I 
 ought not to have given you the lead over. 
 There he was. At first, though, I only saw it 
 was a man. A man ! And I hadn't met a soul 
 since I started. I would have spoken to that 
 man if he had been a wild man of the woods, or 
 the man in the moon " 
 
 " Bet you would ; " muttered Jonathan, a little 
 vexed with her. 
 
 She was letting herself down, he thought. Miss 
 Mary Harborough should have gathered up her 
 skirts as she passed a stranger, held to the other 
 side of the road, kept her eyes front, and her lips
 
 A MEETING IN THE AVILDS 141 
 
 pursed. He was beginning to understand as he 
 had never done before, sundry hints let fall by 
 Mary's mother in the old days. 
 
 " So you ran full tilt at Sir Patrick ? " said he, 
 eyeing her. 
 
 " Full tilt, indeed. As soon as I saw who it 
 was, my nice little man who called me ' Miss 
 Arthur ' I jumped right up into the air. It was 
 such fun. I daresay if I had met him at Hom- 
 burg, or Kome, or even at Cairo, I shouldn't have 
 bothered to remember him — there would have 
 been no need, you know — you may or you mayn't, 
 just as you like — if a man has bored you, all you've 
 to do is to look blank at him, and ten to one he 
 won't have the pluck to introduce himself again, 
 — it's all right, uncle, every one does it, — but if 
 you want to know him, you can call out as I did 
 ' Hollo,' and then he understands at once." 
 
 " Queer things, London manners." 
 
 " Plate, sir. Don't abuse London manners. 
 They're my manners, and I'm your niece. You 
 let my London manners alone. They went down 
 with Sir Pat anyway." 
 
 No one at Losca ever called Sir Patrick ' Sir 
 Pat.' 
 
 " How do you know they went down with
 
 142 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 him ? " (More likely your pretty face went 
 down with him !) 
 
 " He was happy to meet, sorry to part, and 
 would be very very happy to meet again," cried 
 she, gaily. " I'm awfully witty to-day. Sophy's 
 quite struck with me." 
 
 * Sophy ' and * Mary ' had been arranged the 
 night before. "It's no use holding a girl at 
 arms length with a fortnight of her and no one 
 else, before you," decided the latter; "Sophy," 
 continued she now, "I'll make you a present of all 
 these clever sayings. They're not my own, my 
 dear, so you may as well have them after me as 
 not. There'll be a Clearance Sale the day I leave, 
 and you can get the lot at an overwhelming 
 reduction. There I am again. That's the last 
 phrase of the sales — ' Overwhelming reductions.' 
 And I say, aunt," turning to her, " what do you 
 think the ' Overwhelming reductions ' in Bond 
 Street amounted to? Just double the ordinary 
 price in any other part ? " 
 
 " I don't wonder at Sir Patrick's being pleased 
 to meet you," drily interrupted Mr. Mercer. 
 " You'd be a perfect god-send to a man like him." 
 
 "What do you mean, uncle?" colouring a 
 Httle.
 
 A MEETING IN THE WILDS 143 
 
 "A chatterbox and a — mute." 
 
 " Mute '? He's not a mute. He's a little dear. 
 And if I am a chatterbox I seem to have come to 
 the right place " — then checking herself, " if you 
 don't wish me to talk, you might have said so 
 before. I thought you liked it. You used to like 
 it." 
 
 " Well, well ; " said he, peaceably. 
 
 " Well, well? What do you mean by ' Well, 
 well ' ? Am I to be quiet, or am I not ? I can 
 hold my tongue as well as other people " 
 
 "I doubt it, Mary." 
 
 "And he wouldn't like you to do it, either, 
 Mary." The quick interposition was his wife's. 
 " Your uncle is only teasing. He loves to be 
 waked up. And we are old-fashioned people, and 
 sleepy. Poor Sophy has had a dull time of it 
 lately with only us two ; and I'm sure none of us 
 would like you to hold your tongue, my dear;" 
 reaching out a hand to pat the other hand. 
 
 The other hand turned round and clasped it. 
 
 " I felt quite savage," said Mary, looking at her 
 aunt with soft, beautiful eyes. " There's only 
 one thing that really makes me savage, and it's to 
 be called a chatterbox. I felt as savage as a 
 bear."
 
 144 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 (" Good Lord ! " whispered Jonathan to himself. 
 "A bear! ") 
 
 "Well, what said Sir Patrick to the bear?" 
 inquired he, withdrawing his gaze. 
 
 " "We shall get to it at last ! " muttered Sophy 
 Gill. 
 
 " Sir Patrick ? Oh," said Mary, starting afresh, 
 " Sir Patrick simply howled for joy. I suppose 
 nothing like it had ever happened in his life before. 
 His eyes were like saucers by the time I got within 
 range ; and when I said ' Hollo I ' he had off his 
 cap, or whatever you call it, and showed his nice, 
 thick, curly hair, and — and — let me see, where 
 was I?" 
 
 " Where Sir Patrick howled for joy," said her 
 uncle, gravely. 
 
 " And stuttered and stammered. But I say, he 
 does look awfully well in a kilt. It's an enormous 
 improvement ' ' 
 
 (" What must he look like out of it ? " Internal 
 comment on the part of Sophy.) 
 
 "I've seen lots of men in the kilt," proceeded 
 the narrator, " but only a few of them know how 
 to wear it. / know — though I'm only a girl, and 
 an English one. But there are some Macdonalds 
 we know, whose brothers are all kilties directly
 
 A MEETING IN THE WILDS 145 
 
 they are at their own place ; and we've stayed 
 there ; and they told me about it. They look 
 awfully handsome in their kilts." 
 
 " Do they ? " ejaculated Sophy, drinking 
 it in. 
 
 (" But we can't have a mere Macdonald brother 
 for you," reflected Jonathan.) 
 
 Aloud : "So you thought Sir Patrick — he's 
 not considered much to look at about here — 
 but you thought ?" 
 
 "I thought he looked very nice. As broad as 
 he's long — and so strong looking. A little High- 
 land bull. All that dark, curly hair on his 
 forehead too. And isn't he burnt ? I never 
 saw such a colour." 
 
 "Now that I think of it, Sir Patrick certainly 
 is very brown and red," said Mrs. Mercer. " It's 
 the outdoor life he leads ; but I don't think it 
 unbecoming." 
 
 . " We jabbered away at each other as fast as we 
 could speak — at least I did, while he stood with 
 his cap in his hand. Does he always stand with 
 his cap in his hand when you meet him '> " 
 
 " Does he '? " said Mrs. Mercer, looking at her 
 husband. 
 
 " Not to me ; " said he, grinning. 
 11
 
 146 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Then both looked at Sophy, but Sophy said 
 nothing. She knew in her heart that he had not 
 to her either. 
 
 " I expect he was rather dmnb-fouudered," said 
 Mary, hghtly ; " it was surprising, you know. 
 There we were, with miles and miles of nobody 
 and nothing on both sides ; and he had only seen 
 me in all the hurly-burly of the river, and " 
 
 " And as ' Miss Arthur ' ? " 
 
 " Oh, I soon put that right," said she. " I said 
 ' Come now, Sir Patrick, haven't you found out 
 by this time ? Why, we were all laughing at 
 you.' He didn't seem to see that there was 
 anything to laugh at." 
 
 " You told him who you were ? " 
 
 " And I said I had come here to stay, and all 
 the rest of it." 
 
 " He showed you Kinellan ? " 
 
 "Where it was; and the gates you," to her 
 aunt, " spoke about. There wasn't time to go 
 further. He promised to invite us though ; for 
 I fished for it. I told him I knew Selina — I 
 didn't say I was thankful she wasn't here — but 
 I asked after her with decent civility ; and when 
 he regretted that I had not come during her visit 
 — I don't believe he was regretting a bit in his
 
 A MEETING IN THE WILDS 147 
 
 heart, but he had to pretend — somehow between 
 us we managed to make out that I could get 
 inside the old house, even without that horrid 
 little woman's help." 
 
 " You don't like her, then? " 
 
 " Can't stand her, uncle, — ugh ! " 
 
 " And we have dined there since she left ; " 
 chimed in Mrs. Mercer, on the fidget to say it. 
 " And I'm sure I for one enjoyed my dinner ever 
 so much more than when I had to sit up with 
 that proud-looking little minx afterwards. The 
 way she looks at us all, over the top of her 
 cheeks, as if we were the dirt of the earth ! " 
 
 But this would never do. " Hut — nonsense. 
 Mary will think she has been rude to you." 
 Jonathan, with a frown at his wife, glanced 
 towards his niece, who smiled cheerfully. 
 
 " I daresay she was. She wouldn't be Selina 
 Kinellan if she weren't. Selina is a little horror ; 
 I won't have her at any price. She truckles to 
 mother, and sits in her pocket, because she likes 
 to drive with us to Hurlingham and lunch at our 
 table at ' Lord's,' but " 
 
 " She never let on to me that she knew you ; " 
 exclaimed he, wondering what next ? 
 
 "That's her slyness. She wanted to be nasty
 
 148 SIR PATRICK : THE PUDDOCK 
 
 to you here, so she kept it dark that she cringes 
 to us in Town. I say, uncle Jo, if she knew that 
 you run us " 
 
 "Never mind — never mind," said he, hastily. 
 This would never do for Sophy's ears. 
 
 "Wouldn't she have wheeled about sharp?" 
 said Mary, laughing, " oh, I don't mind her 
 
 hearing " loud enough for every one to hear. 
 
 "And you trust me to take it out of Selina, next 
 time I get the chance. She won't give me a 
 chance if she can help it. You see, we only meet 
 in the season ; and then we talk of nothing but 
 what is on that day or the day before ; and it's 
 nothing to us who's who — out of Town, at least — 
 it's only a few of the very, very wily ones who 
 look ahead, and remember that there will be 
 people to meet and places to go to when London's 
 over. My mother does; and I suppose other 
 mothers do ; but we girls never think of it." 
 
 (" You would though, if you were poor, and glad 
 to go anywhere," thought poor Sophy, jealously.) 
 
 "You're just a spoilt thing," said Jonathan, 
 aloud. Her simplicity, artlessness, and incon- 
 sequence puzzled him. She would not be ' fine,' 
 she would not be ' grand,' he could not get her 
 to patronise Sophy and keep her at a distance, —
 
 A MEETING IN THE WILDS 149 
 
 and yet she talked — how easily, how pleasantly 
 she talked — of * taking it out ' of the haughty, 
 impertinent Mrs. Kinellan, who had had it all her 
 own way so far, and against whom he and his felt 
 powerless. 
 
 He began to perceive something in all this 
 beyond his ken. 
 
 It would not, however, do to let this appear. 
 "Well, I suppose Sir Patrick was at your mercy;" 
 proceeded he, after a pause. " If you had made 
 up your mind to get inside Kinellan, he wouldn't 
 be able to keep you out ? " 
 
 " Eather not. If I couldn't boss him I should 
 be ashamed. But as it happens, he does not 
 want to keep me out — not by any manner of 
 means. His little hospitable soul swelled with 
 rapture when I said I was coming to look him 
 up " 
 
 " Gracious, Mary ! " Mary's aunt felt her head 
 whirling round. 
 
 " So I am, dear — with you, of course. We're 
 all going. He is coming over to ask us ; — I told 
 him not to mind, for that I would take a message 
 — but he loould come. That was his manners, 
 dear little gentleman." 
 
 " When is he coming ? " inquired Mrs. Mercer.
 
 150 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " Some time to-day. But I told him I didn't 
 know if we should be in, and he must take his 
 chance. Of course I couldn't answer for you, 
 and I had an idea of something else for myself. 
 Sophy, there is going to be a tremendously low 
 tide, let's go down, and wade, and look for things ? 
 When I was at Glengyllachan — such a jolly place 
 in Skye — we went there one year about this time 
 — no, it wasn't this time, but it was some time— 
 and there were ' Spring tides ' as they called them. 
 Funny, wasn't it? ' Spring tides,' and I know it 
 was autumn ! For of course no one goes to the 
 Highlands except in the autumn : — anyhow there 
 were the tides, and there was me, and it was very 
 perfectly glorious. I was out morning, noon, and 
 night. I just lived on that shore ; and you never 
 saw anything like the things I brought in." 
 
 "What sort of things?" She was so pretty 
 and so animated, and there was something so 
 fresh and wholesome and natural in her gay 
 prattle, that all the vexation with which her 
 uncle had hearkened at the outset, was fast dying 
 out of his breast, while the old pride and affec- 
 tion were in full force. His own eyes brightened 
 as they reflected something of the sparkling light 
 in hers.
 
 A MEETING IN THE WILDS 151 
 
 " I daresay they did not amount to much," said 
 she : "I threw them away afterwards, — but they 
 were perfect darhngs at the time. It was the 
 hunting for them that I Hked. The wading and 
 shpping about on the great sea- weedy rocks, and 
 the runs over the sand between. And there were 
 heaps and heaps of shells. Great shining shells ; 
 and then such little, tiny ones ! Every sort of 
 pink and yellow, some of them were, — but I liked 
 the white ones best. I kept them for ever so 
 long. Then I gave them to a hospital — so you 
 see they did some good, uncle. I promised to get 
 some more too, so now's the chance ; Sophy, 
 we'll get a lot. We'll simply get buckets full ; 
 and I can take them back with me. I never 
 thought of it till now " 
 
 " Forgot your promise, did you, miss '? " 
 
 "Why, yes, uncle. I couldn't help forgetting, 
 could I ? There are such lots of things to re- 
 member. But sometimes I wish I did not hve in 
 London," said Mary, thoughtfully; "for then I 
 should not have things crowded out as they are 
 now." 
 
 " People do tell me that of London," began her 
 aunt in confirmation. 
 
 " Oh, it's true, aunt; indeed it is. I shouldn't
 
 152 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 be half such a giddy-goat if I lived anywhere else. 
 And I like other places just as well, or better. 
 When I'm away from it all, I never want to go 
 back ; at least I suppose I should like a little bit 
 
 of a rush every now and then in the season " 
 
 " The season must be splendid," cried Sophy, 
 irrepressibly. "1 would give anything in the 
 world to go to London in the season." 
 
 Miss Harborough glanced at her, opened her 
 lips, and shut them again, but a half smile played 
 upon their corners. For a moment she was back 
 in her own set, and looking at poor Sophy Gill 
 through the reverse end of the telescope. 
 
 " I'm glad to see you can amuse yourself out of 
 London at any rate;" said Mr. Mercer, rising 
 from the table. 
 
 It never occurred to him to wait for any one 
 when he had finished what was on his own plate ; 
 and as he had done but little talking he had eaten 
 all he wanted some time before, and only lingered 
 because sufficiently well entertained. 
 
 But now he pushed back his chair and ad- 
 dressed his niece in parting accents. " I suppose 
 it was Sir Patrick who told you about the tide ? 
 He is great on weather and tides, and your aunt 
 pins her faith upon him. But I daresay we
 
 A MEETING IN THE WILDS 153 
 
 might have been able to know without consulting 
 him, that considering the tide was up to the top 
 of the shingle this morning, it will be down as far 
 as it can go this afternoon. I may sometimes 
 be able to tell you a thing or two of that sort 
 if you ask me, Mary." 
 
 " I'll ask you ; no fears, uncle. Are you coming 
 with us? " 
 
 He promised to go another time.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 
 
 T7INELLAN HOUSE, deep set in a rugged 
 glen, and fronting a lonely western sea as 
 its only outlook, was not perhaps the most 
 desirable spot in the world to fall back upon 
 supposing one to have met with a buffet from 
 Fate in any of its varied shapes. 
 
 Yet thither returned, straight as an arrow to 
 its mark, a man who in the full efHorescence 
 of the year, when all the world was in its 
 glory, had learned for the first time in his life 
 what it was to have the deep and hitherto dumb 
 chords of his being, struck, and struck in vain. 
 
 For many years Sir Patrick Kinellan had pur- 
 sued the even tenor of his way contentedly 
 enough. Dwelling among his own people, 
 making their interests his, finding sufficient
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 155 
 
 occupation in the management of his estate, 
 and recreation in hobbies of one kind and 
 another, he never consciously found the time 
 long nor the days dull ; while it only needed 
 the memory of a thwarted, cramped, and un- 
 happy childhood, joined to the sight of his 
 brother's conjugal infelicity, to make him hug 
 himself in his present freedom from every dis- 
 turbing influence. 
 
 He now no longer dreaded to speak lest he 
 should be chidden. The habit of silence, it is 
 true, had gained upon him ; having had its seeds 
 sown in days when to put forward an opinion was 
 to be sharply corrected, or sarcastically quoted — 
 but, perhaps because of the very fact that his 
 words were few, they were listened to with even 
 more respect than those of most other men ; and 
 it was not only his own dependents and retainers 
 who waited deferentially when it was seen that 
 yir Patrick Kinellan was about to speak. 
 
 Moreover he was not merely esteemed, he was 
 beloved. When one is beloved one cannot help 
 knowing it. Sir Patrick, go where he would, 
 never felt himself an intruder; never saw a 
 shadow cross the brow at his approach ; never 
 saw the school-children who streamed over the
 
 156 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 road, playing games as they went, gather to- 
 gether and whisper as they passed him. 
 
 Instead, they would boldly place themselves in 
 his way, grinning into his face ; and the saluting 
 and bobbing would go on coji amore all the time 
 he was addressing, as he invariably did address, 
 the favoured ones. 
 
 It was only the most villainous poacher on the 
 place who sneaked out of sight if the laird came 
 by, and of Lachlan Maclachlan the following tale 
 is still told. 
 
 Sir Patrick, out on the prowl for evil spirits, 
 and with Lachy specially in view on one dark, 
 tempestuous night, had sighted that worthy at 
 his nefarious trade, and started in hot pursuit. 
 Lachy, albeit fleeter of foot, being heavily 
 weighted with plunder, might have been over- 
 taken, indeed Sir Patrick already saw him within 
 his triumphant grasp, when a branch caught the 
 latter's foot, and he fell with a crash. 
 
 The poacher heard the crash, and saw his land- 
 lord — for he was one of Sir Patrick's own tenants 
 — lie motionless. In another moment he was 
 back, and by the side of the fallen figure. 
 
 On regaining consciousness, for he had been 
 momentarilv stunned, the laird found himself
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 157 
 
 being tenderly cared for and his hurts anxiously- 
 investigated. 
 
 " Ye're no hurt? Are ye hurt? Stop a 
 wee, — " Some whisky was poured cannily down 
 his throat. " Oo, Sir Pathrick, — " the big fellow 
 was nearly blubbering, "A thocht ye wad be 
 deid." Hares and rabbits lay openly on the 
 ground, unheeded. 
 
 " Let them be ; " said Lachy, calmly. " Tak 
 ma airm. Or wull I carry ye?" 
 
 But Sir Patrick walked home, leaning on a 
 friendly arm, and lived to resume the chase at a 
 more convenient season. Nothing was ever said 
 about that night's work. 
 
 "A wadna yon wee man had been hurt rinnin 
 after me for a' the hares in Mull," Lachy would 
 allege, with perfect goodwill, and poached away, 
 owing no grudge ; convinced, moreover, that none 
 was owing on the other's part. 
 - None of the neighbouring proprietors wintered 
 at their Highland homes, and sorely would the 
 ' wee man ' have been missed, had he, too, be- 
 taken himself off directly the New Year set in, 
 as did all who had not gone before then. 
 
 Sir Patrick saw the short, dark days out ; and it 
 was only when April airs began to fan the gloomy
 
 158 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 braes into springing life once more, that he would 
 make his brief yearly disappearance. He would 
 pay a few visits, see a race or two run, and wind 
 up with London, where one June day, in the year 
 of which we write, he underwent the experience 
 which was to affect his whole future life. 
 
 How little it was to her — how much to him ! 
 
 A London girl, taking a day off in the midst of 
 her whirl, glad to breathe the pure air of the 
 country after a late ball, and even while gazing on 
 green pastures and still waters eagerly fitting in 
 the future pieces of the feverish panorama with 
 companions equally athirst for the fray, equally 
 resolute not to let a drop be left undrunk of 
 pleasure's cup — what to the giddy young creature 
 with the world hemming her in at every point, 
 pleading for her favour, competing for her smiles, 
 were those hours of bewildering enchantment 
 which woke in him a new and hitherto undreamed 
 of existence ? 
 
 Sir Patrick had been asked at the last moment 
 to join the river party of which Mary Harborough 
 was the raison d'etre. 
 
 He had gone solemnly to call at Lord De 
 Vesci's house, — he always made a point of going 
 a round of solemn, relationly calls on first arriv-
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 159 
 
 ing in Town, and was not averse to the dinner- 
 parties which ensued. Otherwise he spent his 
 time much as Sehna said. But dinner he took 
 seriously, and arrived at the moment, with his 
 card of invitation in his pocket. He had gone, 
 we say, to the De Vescis', been admitted, and 
 found the lady of the house alone. 
 
 She was frantically busy ; notes and cards like 
 snow bestrewed her writing table, and the carriage 
 stood at the door, — but she started up to greet Sir 
 Patrick, and smiled upon him. 
 
 " You are just in time. Come to my river party 
 to-morrow." 
 
 ' ' To-morrow '? ' ' He had arranged nothing for 
 to-morrow, meaning to use it in his own way, and 
 not anticipating interference. As a rule, people 
 did not ask him to day things. 
 
 " You must come. There is just room for one 
 more. And we want a man. Of course you can 
 row." 
 
 Kow? He smiled. He had won a bump for 
 his boat at Oxford more than once. 
 
 But a river party ? He cowered a httle. 
 
 " Now you are not to get off. Providence has 
 sent you here to my aid ; yes, indeed, we want 
 you awfully. I was just thinking whom I should
 
 160 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 get. Oh, please don't think that is the only 
 reason, for you know we really — we so seldom see 
 you, and it is so delightful your just appearing at 
 this moment. No, no, I can't let you off." And 
 her ladyship glanced at the clock. Her look said 
 " Go to-day, and come to-morrow." 
 
 "If you really are in need of me?" said Sir 
 Patrick, feebly. Any one who was ' really in 
 need ' of anything appealed to him. 
 
 " That's a good man. That's capital. Then 
 you'll be here at eleven — or stop, perhaps you'd 
 better meet us at Paddington?" considering a 
 moment. " No ! decidedly no ; be here, and then 
 I shall be sure of you. You see by that, whether 
 I am 'in need' or not," laughing. "I simply 
 can't let you off. I feel as if I had caught a 
 swan. Oh, I am so pleased, and I know you 
 won't throw me over as that horrid Dashleigh 
 boy has done. He does not know I have got 
 Mary Harborough, or he would have thought 
 twice before he sent this " — tearing up a note 
 with malicious energy. " He does not care in the 
 least for spoiling our party — rather likes doing it, 
 I daresay — he is a perfect brute, and gives him- 
 self such airs — that was why I would not tell him 
 Mary was coming. Only to send an excuse now !
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 161 
 
 Isn't it disgusting manners ? Well, never mind, 
 we shan't break our hearts. And dear Sir 
 Patrick, I know you will be true to me, won't 
 you ? " 
 
 What could Sir Patrick say ? He took out his 
 note book, and asked her to repeat the hour at 
 which he should be due ? 
 
 " You are an angel ; " cried she, enthusiastically. 
 
 Then he saw her glance at the clock again, 
 and reach out a hand for gloves and parasol lying 
 near. 
 
 He took the hint. " As we are to meet so soon 
 again ? " 
 
 "Yes. Dehghtful. De Vesci will be so 
 sorry to have missed you. But of course you 
 will come and dine with us. We'll fix a day 
 to-morrow. Good-bye. I hope it will be fine. 
 And you won't forget? Eleven. Because we 
 must catch the 11.40 from Paddington, and we 
 have to meet the rest there, and that station is 
 always so rush-about, — Good-bye." The last 
 ' Good-bye ' saw him to the door. 
 
 He was rather amused with it all. 
 
 As he walked away, he said to himself that 
 London was a fearful place, you could not be 
 twenty-four hours in it without finding yourself 
 
 12
 
 162 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 launched on a headlong career of gaiety, whether 
 you would or no. 
 
 Of course a river party was not Hke those 
 terrible things in houses, those concerts, balls, 
 luncheons, and teas, that Selina went to endlessly, 
 and that he had dechned, and meant to go on 
 declining with unflinching stubbornness, — but 
 still he thought he would say nothing to Selina of 
 his present engagement. He would not give her 
 a loop-hole for imagining that he was vulnerable. 
 
 On reflection he concluded not to call on his 
 sister-in-law till the De Vesci affair was a thing of 
 the past. The De Vescis had never been inti- 
 mate with Selina, and indeed had always been of 
 the few who preferred himself to Nigel. Nigel, 
 the popular favourite, had in his heyday given 
 offence here and there without a thought, from 
 sheer heedless exuberance ; and relations are quick 
 to see when they are little accounted of. In con- 
 sequence, "Patrick is worth a dozen of that 
 pampered brat, his brother:" had been the 
 verdict in Chesterfield Gardens, — and Patrick 
 thereafter had steadily held first place in the 
 affections of all there. 
 
 And though they were not cousins with whom 
 he could have much in common, he liked them
 
 A WHITE PAEASOL 163 
 
 and felt at ease in their society. Lord De Vesci 
 and he talked sport and agriculture and what the 
 country was coming to ; her ladyship discussed 
 the opera, and did her best to be musical ; while 
 the younger generation to whom he was an 
 almost, unknown quantity, prattled and voted 
 him * A good sort.' 
 
 On the whole, the lonely man — he always felt 
 a trifle lonely during the first few days of his 
 London campaign — found himself insensibly 
 cheered by the prospect of being included in 
 a merry party, and that so soon after his 
 arrival. 
 
 After all, when a man is in Town he ought to 
 be doing something, and a little of the spirit of 
 the hurrying crowds entered into his breast. He 
 looked at his pocket-book and put it back again 
 briskly, hailing a hansom with the other hand, 
 for the next call on his list was in Aldford Street, 
 and he did not quite know where Aldford Street 
 was. 
 
 When it proved to be nearly round the corner, 
 Sir Patrick, laughing to himself, bade the man 
 wait ; the day was hot, and be his friends out or 
 in, he would keep the hansom, and keep himself 
 cool.
 
 164 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Presently, after he had done as much as would 
 do for that day, he began to ruminate on his 
 attire for the morrow. What ought it to be ? 
 Surely not frock coat and top hat ? Yet if others 
 were thus habited, how awkward to have assumed 
 a more easy outfit. He wished he had asked 
 Lady De Vesci. Nothing would have been 
 simpler at the moment, but to v/rite and worry 
 her about such a trifle now, seemed not merely 
 absurd, but cruel. He recollected the litter of 
 notes on her ladyship's desk, and her distracted 
 brow. 
 
 Should he go back to the house, and ask to 
 see one of the men ? Either father or sons 
 would be able to give the requisite information ; 
 and though a little ashamed of the fuss he was 
 making, he was about to give the direction when, 
 as luck would have it, a friendly voice greeted 
 him. 
 
 "I say," said Sir Patrick, after shaking hands 
 warmly: "you can tell me. AVhat does one 
 wear at a river party ? I have to go to one to- 
 morrow : " with a flash of pride — it seemed so 
 smart and fashionable, so entirely the thing to be 
 doing, that he felt his friend must wonder how an 
 odd-looking country body like him came to be
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 165 
 
 having such a fine engagement — " and I have 
 never been to a thing of the sort in my Hfe," he 
 concluded, truthfully. 
 
 " Straw hat and an ordinary suit," Colonel 
 Marx did not look as if any very remarkable state- 
 ment had been made. " Jolly on the river on a 
 day like this." 
 
 "Not this sort of rig, then?" Sir Patrick 
 glanced down at himself. 
 
 " Oh dear, no. Be broiled alive. Nice cool 
 morning suit, the coolest you've got." 
 
 "I see. And — and how do you get there?" 
 This had been puzzling him. 
 
 " You're not going with the people ? " said the 
 colonel, internally commenting : " Gad, I wouldn't 
 fag down unless I were taken in tow by the people 
 themselves." 
 
 Sir Patrick however explained. 
 
 " You are going with them? " said Marx. 
 ■ " Yes, to be sure. I am to be at the house at 
 eleven. I was only wondering, my cousin said 
 something about ' Paddington station ' and I — 
 to tell the truth, I always supposed," laughing, 
 " that the Thames ran through London." 
 
 " Ha — ha — ha ! So you wanted to get on 
 board a penny boat, with a blind fiddler, and toot
 
 166 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 — toot — toot from side to side, cheek-by- jowl with 
 all the East End, up to Kew, eh? " 
 
 "Well I did that once, and enjoyed it very 
 much," said Sir Patrick. " That was what made 
 me wonder about Paddington. I thought it might 
 be some other river Lady De Vesci meant." 
 
 "Lady De Vesci? It's her party? Oh, no; 
 it's no other river ; " amused. " There's only one 
 ' river ' for us Londoners. So that's your party ? 
 Lady De Vesci's ? Another fellow I know is 
 going. At least he was, but he's chucked 
 it " 
 
 " I am going in his place." 
 
 " Awfully good of you. They're lucky to get 
 you. The De Vescis are al] very well — nice 
 people, and all that — but they are so frightfully 
 energetic. They expect you to go for a regular 
 tremender of a day, and to row like blazes. And 
 they never come back till the last train. So 
 Bobby Dashleigh says. That's why he won't go. 
 Says his constitution won't stand it." 
 
 " Well, mine will," said Sir Patrick, manfully. 
 "And I am accustomed to rowing in all weathers." 
 He was not going to be daunted. " So now that 
 I know what to go in, I shall be all right. Look 
 me up and dine with me, will you ? "
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 167 
 
 " Two engagements already," said he to him- 
 self, as the two parted. 
 
 The next thing was to get a straw hat. 
 "Lincoln and Bennett's," said our country cousin, 
 who always went to the best places ; and once 
 more he ensconced himself in his hansom — (by 
 this time he was on the friendliest terms with 
 the driver, who took him long rounds to 
 places close by, and mentally doubled the length 
 of every halt, with an instinctive conviction that 
 he would get whatever he asked) — and at Lincoln 
 and Bennett's, " Now then, what is it ? " said the 
 gentleman, looking up from the pavement. 
 
 "Seven and six;" said the man with a 
 gulp. 
 
 "And there's a shilling for yourself; " said Sir 
 Patrick. 
 
 For many a day thereafter, Cabby kept his 
 eye open for a short, broad figure, with the 
 kindly face, " and the benev'lent 'art," as he said 
 to himself. "Wish us pore fellers could 'appen 
 on more o' his sort : " and he told the tale in 
 Cabbys' shelters, mournfully shaking his head and 
 wiping his mouth with unction. 
 
 So that more eyes than his were presently on 
 the stretch for the burly little baronet, and he
 
 168 SIE PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 little knew why every now and then a ' prowler ' 
 would keep by his side persistently as he walked 
 along, or draw up at the corner of the pavement 
 with anxious expectation, all on the qui vive if he 
 happened to pause and consider, before a crowded 
 crossing. 
 
 Once Sir Patrick knew what he had to do, there 
 was no fear that he would not do it. Colonel 
 Marx had told him what to wear, and Lady De 
 Vesci where and when to come, — so that though 
 he felt somewhat as if he were setting foot upon 
 a foreign soil without any very clear idea of 
 the language, the sense of subdued exhilaration 
 was still upon him when he stepped down the 
 broad staircase of his hotel, and saw the cool hall, 
 filled with pleasure-seekers like himself. He had 
 wondered for a moment if he should look odd 
 going out at that hour from that place in a straw 
 hat? Hitherto he had always gone about most 
 punctiliously in correct London garb. 
 
 But it did not appear that anything was 
 correct, or incorrect. All were attired to suit 
 their several requirements, and a man of his own 
 age — a man, too, with looks and a fine bearing — 
 sauntered past ere he had been two minutes 
 down, in a suit the fac-simile of his own. He
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 169 
 
 experienced a thrill of elation, and gave no further 
 thought to his appearance. 
 
 Shall we weary our readers if we give a 
 glimpse of the day which followed, from point 
 to point ? 
 
 At first it was all confusion, greetings, arrange- 
 ments. Who was to go with whom ? Who had 
 railway tickets, and who had not ? Where were 
 the baskets and wraps ? Then Sir Patrick had 
 got into the wrong carriage with quite inferior 
 people, and must be hauled out and bundled in 
 next door, and could not for the life of him tell 
 why. 
 
 "The idea of letting him go with them!'' 
 Her ladyship looked daggers at the unoffending 
 satellites, who had done nothing to deserve 
 contumely, having only seen a quiet little gentle- 
 man standing humbly in the back-ground and, 
 meaning to be civil, indicated a vacant seat in 
 ■their midst. 
 
 Lady De Vesci, however, had her wits about 
 her. She might dismiss her country cousin 
 rather too palpably when he called at an unlucky 
 moment, but she not only knew what Sir Patrick 
 as Sir Patrick was entitled to, but, looking upon 
 him as the saviour of her party, and the man
 
 170 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 who, bidden at the eleventh hour, had obeyed her 
 command without a demur or a pretence, she was 
 resohite that he should be treated handsomely. 
 
 Accordingly he travelled down with herself and 
 — Mary Harborough. 
 
 A reason for this was given him, but he never 
 could recollect what it was, even when conning 
 over the events of the day, as he did, ah, how 
 often ! 
 
 He was presented to Miss Arthur. (For con- 
 venience sake, we will for the present call her 
 what Sir Patrick did.) 
 
 Miss Arthur sat beside her hostess, a tall, fair, 
 glowing girl, in the freshest of white frocks, with 
 a foam of lace about her throat. Her broad- 
 brimmed hat was also trimmed with white ; her 
 complexion could stand it. 
 
 " You don't look a bit the worse for your balls, 
 Mary," Lady De Vesci having now got every- 
 body on board and nothing left behind, could 
 afford to be genial and expansive, " Sir Patrick, 
 Miss Arthur" — (that was what he thought she 
 said, and bowed, recognising an introduction) — 
 "goes to everything, and looks — my dear, did you 
 see that poor Lilian Birch? Upon my word, 
 that girl will kill herself ; I really could not have
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 171 
 
 her in here. It would have made me miserable 
 to be sitting opposite to her." 
 
 " She looked just as bad last night," said 
 Mary. " Lily's not strong, you know." 
 
 "Not like you, or my girls. But they don't 
 do as much as you. Flo would not go last night; 
 she said it would knock her up for to-day." 
 
 " Did Gerty enjoy herself? " 
 
 " Immensely. I haven't had time to hear 
 about it, but I know she said * Immensely.' An 
 aunt took her; " explained her ladyship, for Sir 
 Patrick's benefit. 
 
 "It's so jolly that there is nothing on to- 
 night," said Mary. "Mother wanted me to come 
 back, and go to the Scoresbys'. But I said 'Not 
 if I know it,' " — laughing merrily. 
 
 " Dear me, no. The Scoresbys' ? That's a 
 concert, isn't it ? Your mother is going ? I wish 
 I had known. I would have asked her to take — 
 but it is too late now. Don't let us think about 
 those troublesome things. Let us give ourselves 
 up to — oh, Mary, have those tiresome Owen 
 people asked you ? They are simply pestering 
 everybody to go to them, and I suppose we 
 shall have to give in. I believe it is a wonderful 
 house."
 
 172 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " Lady De Vesci, will yoii take me to the 
 Holland House garden party?" 
 
 Off they started again, while Sir Patrick sat 
 still and listened. 
 
 This kind of thing was new to him ; but it was 
 not because it was new that he quietly faced the 
 speakers instead of turning his head aside, and 
 gazing from the window as the train flew along. 
 The three were alone, as it chanced ; others who 
 should have come in with them, having found 
 seats elsewhere in the hurry of departure ; so that 
 there was no one to whom conversation was due, 
 while, at the same time, it could not be supposed 
 that anything now passing between the ladies 
 was not meant for the gentleman to hear. He 
 was free to look interested and attentive — that 
 meant he was free to let his eyes rest on Miss 
 Arthur's beautiful face. 
 
 What a face it was ! At once so fair, so bright, 
 so busy — if such a term could be applied. Her 
 parted lips seemed made to smile. Youth and 
 happiness irradiated from every feature. 
 
 "My dear, you have added another victim to 
 your list ; " Lady De Vesci lingered for a whisper 
 and a significant glance, ere she hurried along the 
 platform, when the brief journey was over ; and
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 173 
 
 Mary was told to stand where she was, and Sir 
 Patrick to take charge of her, while the party was 
 being collected and marshalled. 
 He resolved to stick like a leech. 
 Perhaps she saw it — perhaps she liked it. At 
 any rate, he had her shawl to carry, and once 
 when an eager aspirant came between the two. 
 Miss Arthur coolly stepped back a pace. 
 
 " I believe I am under your wing," said she, 
 beaming friendly encouragement upon her late 
 traveUing companion. Whereat the other man, 
 looking Sir Patrick up and down, shrugged his 
 shoulders unafraid. It was only ' a bit of bluff,' 
 he thought. 
 
 Sir Patrick, however, felt more than ever in 
 luck's way. She had said it — it had not merely 
 been said to her. He hugged the shawl closer ; 
 wild horses would not have torn it from 
 him. 
 
 They walked down to the river side by side. 
 Sir Patrick felt free to do so. He knew no one of 
 the party but his hosts, and they were too much 
 engrossed to require attention. Flo, whose own 
 affairs were all right, gave him a smile, and 
 exchanged a passing congratulation " What a 
 perfect day ! " — Gerty, who was not equally
 
 174 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 prosperous, evaded her elderly cousin, fearful lest 
 he should attach himself where another was still 
 expected, still anxiously hoped for. 
 
 Miss Arthur, perfectly disengaged, and appa- 
 rently as willing to talk to him as any one else, 
 found the persistent little figure always at her 
 elbow, and when he had handed her into his boat, 
 he smiled for the first time. Up till then he had 
 been too anxious. 
 
 He pulled stroke. That meant he was close to 
 the ladies in the stern. 
 
 And of these there were only two, Sir Patrick 
 having been relegated to one of the smaller boats ; 
 for Lady De Vesci, having no one in view for her 
 heiress now that Lord Robert Dashleigh had 
 failed — (for whom she had projected the match, 
 Bobby being poor, and his people wild to get him 
 provided for — "Would be usefidhj grateful for 
 ever," her ladyship had reflected) — this little 
 scheme having fallen through, we say, its baffled 
 projector was very well pleased to please her 
 kinsman ; and whether anything came of it or 
 not, let him bask awhile in beauty's smiles, un- 
 molested. 
 
 The aspirant who had tried to oust Sir Patrick 
 on the station platform, and who was now
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 175 
 
 furtively sneaking towards the little boat, was 
 summarily ordered off, and harnessed to a team, 
 which, to his angry mind, had all that was cheap 
 and nasty on board. 
 
 " Isn't Mr. Monson savage?" whispered Mary. 
 Then demurely, "He would have liked a nice, 
 easy boat to row, you know." 
 
 Sir Patrick laughed with pleasure. 
 
 The sun was hot upon his head, and smote 
 upon the back of his neck fiercely ; but once he 
 had tucked a handkerchief inside his straw hat 
 and let it fall over his shoulders — Mary noted the 
 handkerchief, it was so old-fashioned in its size, 
 but of the finest, purest cambric — he drew his 
 long strokes with an ease that made the slim boy 
 at his back envious. 
 
 "I say, you can row; and you don't get a 
 
 bit hot, neither." Poor Neddy — it was Neddy 
 
 De Vesci, a clerk in the Foreign Office — panted as 
 
 - he spoke, while great beads of perspiration stood 
 
 upon his forehead. 
 
 "You are out of condition, I daresay?" 
 suggested Sir Patrick, good-naturedly. 
 
 " I don't know. Yes. Perhaps I am. I — 
 don't often— get a day— oftV jerkily drawing 
 breaths between the words.
 
 176 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " There's no need to pull so hard; " suggested 
 Mary, pitying him. 
 
 "And I think," appended the ' Stroke,' who 
 perceived that he was the only one in the boat 
 who knew anything about it, " that perhaps if 
 you" — addressing Miss Arthur, who held the 
 tiller ropes, " would steer a little closer to the 
 bank we should not have the stream quite so 
 strong against us. If you notice, the other 
 boats " he hinted. 
 
 "Why, of course; now why did you not tell 
 me that before. Sir Patrick ? " 
 
 Sir Patrick smiled weakly. 
 
 " You knew all the time that I was giving you 
 double work, but you would not correct me, 
 because I was so conceited as to fancy I knew all 
 about it ; that was quite the preux chevalier," 
 cried Mary, delighted. " I daresay but for Neddy 
 you would have tugged away without a remon- 
 strance the whole afternoon. There, is that 
 right ? Are we close enough now ? " 
 
 They were so close and so well out of the 
 stream that scarcely half the exertion was needed, 
 and Sir Patrick, to whom the exercise was a mere 
 nothing, joined in the ladies' conversation as 
 though no oar were in his hands. He was only
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 177 
 
 sorry when the islet came in sight upon which 
 they were to land. 
 
 But even on the islet things went well with 
 him. Miss Arthur herself beckoned her oarsman 
 to the shade which she had selected for her own 
 benefit — (it must be said that he was most 
 obviously hovering near,) — and he was allowed to 
 lie on the grass and look up into her face, and 
 eat and drink — he did not eat much, but he was 
 thirsty — while no one else made any demands 
 upon him, and the gay chatter went on all round 
 unheeding. 
 
 After luncheon came a stroll — still by Mary's 
 side. By this time he had a recognised right in 
 her. 
 
 Then a paddle all by themselves in their own 
 boat ; a halt up a dreamy backwater ; where the 
 woodpeckers were rustling, and the waterhens 
 leading forth their broods across the water-lily 
 leaves — more talk, some of it serious — Sir Patrick 
 unfolding curious, locked up treasures of his 
 heart, which no one knew of but himself ; 
 Mary sympathetic, interested, touched — for the 
 moment. 
 
 "You needn't laugh at him;" she said indig- 
 nantly, on her return to gay rebukes and 
 
 13
 
 178 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 whispered badinage. " I'd a great deal rather 
 have had him than any one else here : " chin in 
 air; "yes, I would. You have your own men," 
 to the girls who had by this time ' caught on ' 
 as they said to the ' Miss Arthur ' jest. " I dare- 
 say they are nice enough ; but anyhow, they have 
 nothing to do with me. And I can tell you he's 
 very good company ; and — and — I like him very 
 much," defiantly. 
 
 Sir Patrick looking wistfully on from the back- 
 ground, was sure that something was being said. 
 Were they trying to take her from him ? 
 
 He breathed relief however; no such dire 
 catastrophe ensued ; and instead, back tripped 
 Miss Arthur with a request. Some of the party 
 were going up to tea at a house whose grounds 
 sloped down towards the water's edge, but she 
 did not know the people, and did not wish to go 
 to the house. Neddy, too, had declared against 
 the expedition. Would Sir Patrick join them in 
 evading it? Would he lend himself to a ruse? 
 The three were to land with the rest, affect to 
 follow them up the woodland path, turn round 
 when sufficiently far behind, and slip back to the 
 boats. 
 
 "Then we'll boil our own kettle, and make
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 179 
 
 our own tea, and it will be such fun," said 
 she. 
 
 Oh, poor Sir Patrick ! 
 
 That hour seemed to rivet in all that had gone 
 before. The presence of a third person was no 
 drawback at this stage, that third being a callow 
 youth to whom the playing of a trick was glee, 
 and to fill whose cup all that was needed was 
 the consciousness that he was sharing the 
 misdemeanour with the prettiest girl of the 
 party. 
 
 Further than that, Mary was nothing to him. 
 He had his own Mary, and she was not there, — 
 whereat at first he had sulked, but by this time 
 having forgotten, would start afresh presently 
 with some one else, name as yet unknown. 
 Neddy was never empty-handed long. 
 
 He was annoyed with his sisters too ; they 
 would order him about before people. It was 
 they who had projected the raid to the beastly 
 house where he was sure they were not wanted 
 by the beastly people. He was charmed to out- 
 wit them. 
 
 Accordingly they were the merriest trio 
 imaginable, who with a sense of desperate daring 
 and triumphant diplomacy flew down the bank.
 
 180 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 and lost themselves in the green by the river's 
 edge, vi^hence they abode in fullest content till the 
 return of the raiders. 
 
 " And we have had the most lovely tea ; " said 
 Mary. 
 
 " Miss Arthur is a splendid tea-maker ; " asserted 
 Sir Patrick. 
 
 It was such a little thing to laugh at. He 
 would have laughed himself had he known, — but, 
 as it was, a distinct and audible titter struck upon 
 his ear like a knell. The Misses De Vesci had 
 high spirits, and the day's events had raised them 
 to the pitch of recklessness, — since even Gerty's 
 earlier ill-fortune had been handsomely remedied, 
 and she was now as brimful of merriment as her 
 sister ; — wherefore they were alike in a mood to 
 ' scream at nothing ' as narrated by Mary 
 Harborough to her uncle. 
 
 ' Miss Arthur ! ' Oh, it was a huge joke. 
 
 Not to know the universally-known Mary ! 
 To have been in all ignorance a whole day in her 
 company, her favoured companion of the hour, 
 the locum tenens who would have excited such a 
 swell of jealousy in a score of breasts had they 
 known ! It was too ridiculous, too splendid, too 
 screaming !
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 181 
 
 "Don't tell him for Heaven's sake, don't tell 
 him; " implored they. 
 
 All right. Mary had no desire to tell. She 
 had her private complacency in having subjugated 
 a heart off her own bat, so to speak ; and albeit 
 unaware, indeed little dreaming of the extent of 
 the havoc wrought, she could not but perceive 
 what all perceived. 
 
 It was an understood thing that she and her 
 new friend should return as they came ; and out 
 of the range of his tormentors, the latter's spirits 
 revived. He told himself that possibly he had 
 been mistaken, and that the laugh might have 
 meant anything. They were laughing all the 
 time in the other boats. Echoes of mirth floated 
 on every puff of air — not that there were many 
 puffs, for the night was calm as the day had been 
 — still on the water sound carries far, and by the 
 time Maidenhead was reached, conviction was 
 firm that this particular laugh had only been one 
 of many. He held his own stoutly. 
 
 And would have continued to hold it, but Fate 
 who had been so kind before, now showed her 
 claws. 
 
 "You are looking for Miss Arthur." A gay 
 voice accosted him, as one of his young cousins
 
 182 SIE PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 strolled up. "Miss Arthur — he — he — he! is 
 over there," indicating the spot. 
 
 " I thought she might want her parasol ; " 
 murmured the forlorn knight. He was beginning 
 to feel a twinge of forlornness ; for Mary, his 
 Mary, had drifted away from him, and others had 
 clustered round her. However, at the moment 
 she looked round. 
 
 "Her parasol'?" Florence De Vesci ironically 
 regarded it. " She gave it you to hold instead 
 of the shawl?" 
 
 He assented. Miss Arthur had been glad to 
 wrap herself against the cooler night breezes 
 on the river, and he had been made the 
 happy proprietor pro tem. of the now useless 
 parasol. 
 
 " Well, take it to her," said Florence, promptly. 
 " Mary ; " advancing towards the group, " here is 
 Sir Patrick clinging to your parasol for dear life. 
 He thinks you may want it," with mischievous 
 significance. " At any rate, that you may like to 
 be near it. Now, don't you go and get out of 
 range of that parasol. Isn't that the idea, Sir 
 Patrick?" 
 
 He bowed confusedly. He was not used to 
 being bantered.
 
 A WHITE PARASOL 183 
 
 " Where is Sir Patrick? " demanded Lady De 
 Vesci, peering hither and thither, eyeglass up, to 
 collect the stragglers. "Is Sir Patrick " 
 
 "Here, with 'Miss Arthur,'" replied her 
 daughter, and now there could be no mistake, 
 he distinctly saw a general smile and glances 
 passing. 
 
 " Nonsense ; " said her ladyship, crossly. It did 
 not suit her that her own particular guest should 
 be made game of, especially by others with whom 
 she was now out of humour. Flo and Gerty had 
 annoyed her all day, getting altogether beyond 
 her control ; while the picnic had, matrimonially, 
 been a failure, as she had at last come to perceive. 
 It had been nothing but folly and flirtation, she 
 indignantly told herself ; vowing a bitter vow 
 against river days in future. 
 
 " Now, mind we all get into a big saloon to- 
 gether ; " continued our hostess, peremptorily. 
 "There are saloon carriages on this train, they 
 say ; and there has been too much breaking up 
 into twos and threes already " 
 
 "Not much of threes;" murmured Flo, still 
 mischievous and mirth-loving. " Only one three, 
 Mary" — (Sir Patrick heard her say it,) — "and 
 Neddy doesn't count."
 
 184 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 '"Sh! Be quiet." 
 
 The two girls were outside the general circle, 
 close to a motionless figure in grey. 
 
 " ' Miss Arthur ' has done pretty well to-day, 
 eh?" continued Flo. 
 
 A murmured response, inaudible. 
 
 But Florence De Vesci's voice was higher 
 pitched than that of her companion, and carried 
 further. 
 
 " Tell him ? Not you. It would spoil all." 
 
 Again an inaudible response. 
 
 Then, " Well, and why not? Why shouldn't 
 we laugh at him ? " cried the heedless Flo. 
 " He'll never find out. He's only up for a week 
 or two, and knows no one in our set. And as for 
 you, it was you who set us on, " 
 
 The figure in grey stumbled forward in the 
 darkness, and something fell out of its arms. 
 
 It was a white parasol.
 
 CHAPTEK VIII 
 
 'BOBBY' APPEARS UPOX THE SCENE 
 
 rriHAT summer day contained the whole 
 romance of Sir Patrick's Hfe. He never 
 spoke of it ; he was reheved that none of the 
 De Vesci family were at home when he called 
 to thank them for his share in the entertainment ; 
 and he left London within a week. 
 
 Thus he cut himself off, unwittingly, from any 
 chance he might have had of hearing the truth. 
 
 And the truth, though it might have done him 
 no solid, substantial good, would have saved him 
 many hours of sadness. It was pathetic to think 
 of the dumb suffering locked within that heart, of 
 which no one knew or dreamed. 
 
 Back sped Sir Patrick to his ancestral home 
 and threw himself at once into its interests and 
 concerns, seizing as it were the thread of these 
 
 185
 
 186 SIK PATKICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 between fierce, trembling fingers, which knotted 
 them fast. 
 
 Home was best, he said ; tliat was why he had 
 come back sooner than usual. 
 
 And he sent for John Wigram, the factor, the 
 very night of his arrival, instead of waiting until 
 the following day, as was his wont. 
 
 He was seen hurrying hither and thither upon 
 the road. A boat was ordered, and he was on 
 the shore waiting impatiently long before the 
 hour himself had named to start. Scarcely had 
 he gone out on to the dark bosom of the loch, ere 
 he must return. They had to land him on a 
 point, and he walked home. 
 
 Again he was sighted against the sky-line on 
 the moor, tramping back and forwards, not Hke 
 one with an end in view. 
 
 What in Heaven's name had come to the 
 laird '? 
 
 After a time however, the keen edge of 
 torment wore off, and there remained only a 
 deepened sense of personal inferiority, and a 
 strengthened conviction that he was not meant 
 for the world, in the bosom of the man who had, 
 as he took it, betrayed himself to its ridicule and 
 contempt.
 
 'BOBBY' APPEARS UPON THE SCENE 187 
 
 Nigel, he felt, would uever have been so deceived. 
 
 Yet again Nigel had been deceived ; had been 
 caught by the outward semblance of affection, 
 and the charm of a sympathetic sweetness — 
 Selina was still a favourite in many quarters — it 
 really seemed as if truth and honour no longer 
 existed among women, or at any rate among the 
 women of his own class. 
 
 He recalled that the De Vescis, whom he had 
 always taken to be nice sort of people, had lent 
 themselves to the plot against him — for it had 
 now assumed the dimensions of a plot — and if 
 they, his own kinsfolk, towards whom his 
 thoughts had always turned complacently, could 
 be tools in the hands of a heartless girl bent on 
 finding food for her own vanity, how could he 
 expect anything better from others ? 
 
 Lady De Vesci had made him travel down with 
 Mary ; entrusted Mary to his care ; permitted her 
 to attach him at every point in the day's events — 
 and though her ladyship was certainly innocent 
 as far as the al fresco tea-party was concerned, 
 and he now interpreted her annoyance at the rail- 
 way station to a sense of the jest's having been 
 carried too far, he still felt that she had been a 
 party to it at the beginning.
 
 188 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 They all intended him to be subjugated by 
 their beautiful guest, and, aware of his previous 
 impregnability in such quarters, contrived that he 
 was to make sport for them, like Samson for the 
 Philistines. 
 
 With dry, burning eyes. Sir Patrick saw it all, 
 and almost felt he could have borne it all, but for 
 four words which, when uttered had fallen like a 
 hammer on his heart ; and left an indelible 
 impress there. 
 
 " You set us on," Florence De Vesci had cried, 
 shrilly. And the only answer was — a laugh. 
 
 Time however, as we have said, healed even the 
 smart of that wound, and the hardy Highlander 
 resumed his wonted habits and occupations. 
 
 A day, what was a day ? 
 
 At first it seemed a life-time ; but when he had 
 wrung the full measure of its bitterness from every 
 hour, the area shrank. Literally, there had been 
 no time for fancy to range, and a future to be con- 
 jured up. The present had been everything — and 
 to this he owed a speedier restoration to his usual 
 quiet cheerfulness than he was aware. 
 
 All was over so soon, over with a great crash it 
 is true, but still over decisively and conclusively, 
 that almost before he could feel the ground
 
 'BOBBY' APPEARS UPON THE SCENE 189 
 
 whereon he stood, it was cut from under him. 
 One ray from Heaven had streamed athwart his 
 path and vanished — but the path remained what 
 it always had been ; he buckled to, and trod it. 
 By-and-bye he trod much as he had done before. 
 
 Selina, however, voted The Puddock touchy, 
 on her next visit ; and there was one grand explo- 
 sion, as we know. She tackled him with avoidance 
 of her house when in Town, and protested that 
 unsociability was growing upon him. She heard 
 he had been to the De Vescis'. And Lady Do 
 Vesci might as well have asked them to the river 
 party, for Nigel would have gone if he had known 
 his brother was to be there. 
 
 When Sir Patrick had nothing to say about the 
 river party, however, she yawned, and was sure it 
 had been dull — everything the De Vescis did was 
 dull. Besides she couldn't have gone ; she was 
 dining at Hurlingham, or at some' other place; 
 •certainly she couldn't have gone. 
 
 He was silent. He did not see that an 'answer 
 was required. 
 
 This had been said on the first day after Selina's 
 arrival. On the second, she had, innocently 
 enough, reverted again to the party as to which 
 her grievance was genuine ; for she had bee
 
 190 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 dying to go to it, and other invitations had only 
 been accepted when hope was vain, — and on this 
 second recurrence to the subject her brother-in- 
 law had been betrayed into a quick rejoinder : 
 "You might have gone in my place, with pleasure." 
 
 "I daresay. Why on earth did they ask you? 
 So odd of them." 
 
 (" Why indeed ? " thought he, bitterly.) 
 
 But a grand day's sport on the moor followed, 
 and more than half the bag fell to Sir Patrick's 
 gun ; he came home healthily tired, hungry, and 
 jubilant. Also he had had time for a consoling 
 reflection. The De Vescis had told Selina nothing. 
 That, in itself, was a point gained. 
 
 The names of the London people who were 
 now submitted to him, as being about to avail 
 themselves of his hospitality, did indeed cause a 
 twinge, as he fancied some of them familiar, and 
 recalled that they had been met at the De Vescis' 
 house, — but his cousins themselves having gone 
 abroad, his worst apprehensions were at rest, and 
 on the whole Selina's list had his approbation. 
 
 Little more remains to be said. 
 
 New thoughts and emotions, new likings and 
 dislikings, the bustle and stir connected with the 
 annual opening of the guest chambers — anxiety
 
 'BOBBY' APPEARS UPON THE SCENE 191 
 
 about the weather, the sport, the various amuse- 
 ments projected, the whole business in short, kept 
 Sir Patrick's mind in a continual ferment, and 
 when it was over, relief was his predominating 
 emotion. He smoked his pipe and thought of 
 ' Miss Arthur ' with a gentle sigh. 
 
 She was thoughtless — that was all. 
 
 And now for the meeting of the pair. 
 
 "Who can yon be upon the road?" cogitated 
 Sir Patrick thinking in Scotch as he often did, and 
 deeply interested directly he saw a figure in the 
 distant solitude. "Not the Gill lassie?" after 
 walking on a bit. " Ay, it is, though." He 
 picked himself up. The Gill lassie was a cheery 
 lassie, he had no objection to meet and have a 
 * crack ' ! 
 
 " She's coming after her shells. Well, there 
 may be some, but I doubt it. I told her a storm 
 would bring them in ; but yesterday's wind was 
 hardly enough. Still, there may be a few, if she 
 knows the right places to look." 
 
 He reflected that he could tell her the places. 
 
 "It's she;" he nodded to himself; for be it 
 remembered, there was no choice, to his mind ; 
 either it was Sophy, or some country-side damsel ; 
 and clothes and general appearance did not indi-
 
 192 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 cate the latter. Mary Harborough, too, though 
 an inch or so taller than Sophy Gill, was not of 
 sufficient height to mark a difference. 
 
 She came along briskly. To herself she also 
 was saying, Who is that ? naturally not recognis- 
 ing an acquaintance in the kilted figure approach- 
 ing with easj^ swing of philabeg, gun over the 
 shoulder, bonnet well down across the brow. 
 
 "A gentleman, or a keeper?" queried Mary, 
 keeping to the farther side of the road ; whichever 
 it was, it would be easier to pass with the breadth 
 of the way between. " I suppose I must not 
 speak? " Yet not to speak, not even to exchange 
 a salutation, and loneliness for miles on every 
 side? "If he touches his cap, I'll say "Fine 
 day ; " decided she. 
 
 Then all at once a curious sensation made itself 
 felt. Where and when had she seen that face 
 before ? 
 
 Sir Patrick's eyes were starting from his head. 
 
 But again Time, his ancient ally, stood his 
 friend. The moment was upon him ere he was 
 conscious of more than a dizzy sensation ; and a 
 ringing voice hailed him by his name, while yet 
 his ears buzzed. 
 
 " Don't you remember me ? "
 
 'BOBBY' APPEARS UPON THE SCENE 193 
 
 Eemember her? Oh, the thrilHng sweetness 
 of those tones. 
 
 Bemember her ? 
 
 He bared his head. His eyes humbly breathed 
 reproach. His feet stood still. 
 
 "Who would have beheved we should meet 
 like this?" cried the gay girl, laughing, and 
 well pleased. " Why, Sir Patrick, I think you 
 know me, but " 
 
 " Oh yes, yes ; " said he, hurriedly. 
 
 " So this was where you flew away to, and no 
 one ever saw you again? Or, are you just here on 
 a visit like myself? I only came last night, I 
 never was in this part of the Highlands before." 
 
 "And you came — last night?" He could think 
 of nothing else to say. 
 
 " From London to Oban by train. Then my 
 uncle met me in his yacht?" 
 
 " Your uncle? " He was still bewildered. 
 
 " Don't you know him? Over there. Losca is 
 his place. That's where I'm stopping." 
 
 "At Losca? Is Mr. Mercer your uncle?" — 
 light breaking in upon him. 
 
 "That's better; now you know," nodded she, 
 serenely. " You seem rather dumbfoundered, Sir 
 Patrick." Inwardly she was flattered, conceiving 
 
 14
 
 194 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 a tribute to her charms, and ready to remember 
 what had long since sHpped into memory's back- 
 ground. " I hope you don't object to my being 
 Mr. Mercer's niece?" with an arch conviction 
 that no neighbour of Mr. Mercer's could mind. 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Arthur " 
 
 " Oh, stop," cried she. 
 
 He stopped, amazed. 
 
 "It was really very silly of us, and rude too," 
 she ran on, a slight confusion visible, "Lady De 
 Vesci scolded us all for it afterwards ; and we 
 should have explained, only we never saw you, and 
 it wasn't worth a fuss, but — but my name is not 
 — I mean it's not ' Miss Arthur,' and we couldn't 
 help laughing when you said it." 
 
 " Not * Miss Arthur ' ? " 
 
 " Not at all ' Miss Arthur.' Oh, dear, no. My 
 name is ' Harborough ' — but they sound alike," — 
 she waited for the effect of her words. 
 
 The effect however, was ludicrously slight. 
 ' Arthur ' or ' Harborough ' what mattered it ? Sir 
 Patrick saw he had been misled ; but a trivial 
 misnomer? He blinked his eyes and looked, it 
 must be owned, stupidly blank. 
 
 " So you see it tvas rather funny," resumed the 
 heiress, who had expected a start and an exclama-
 
 'BOBBY' APPEAKS UPON THE SCENE 195 
 
 tion, and even now could hardly fathom the depths 
 of ignorance which made neither forthcoming. 
 " You had never heard of me, I suppose ? " On a 
 sudden she felt enlightened herself. 
 
 " Ought I to have heard of you ? " 
 
 " Why, yes ; " frankly. 
 
 " And not to have done so was unpardonable ?" 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 " I understand." 
 
 "But we never supposed that you had not;" 
 pursued the young lady, somewhat disconcerted, 
 " and just for the fun of it, I told the other girls, 
 and they said ' Oh, don't tell him' — no," suddenly 
 she checked herself, " I'm afraid it was I who said 
 it; " a blush rising. "You see London is — is such 
 a horrid place. People who won't speak to you or 
 look at you if you are a nobody, come fawning 
 round and beg to be allowed to call, and offer you 
 tickets for everything under the sun, if you are — 
 are " 
 
 "A somebody? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And you are a somebody ? " 
 
 " Of course I am, sir." The beauty threw up 
 her head. Then laughing outright. "No one 
 ever asked me that question before."
 
 196 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Sir Patrick quietly smiled. " Miss Harborough," 
 he paused to look her full in the face, " that is 
 right this time ? Yes ? Miss Harborough, you 
 are, I gather, a reigning sovereign, and I treated 
 you as a simple citizen. But if finding me thus 
 under a misconception — you masqueraded before 
 me as — shall we say a beggar maid? — if, thus 
 
 disguised, you won my ignorant homage " his 
 
 voice shook a little, though he fancied it steady — 
 " was it worth while to laugh " 
 
 " Oh, Sir Patrick — indeed, Sir Patrick — oh, I 
 am so sorry, so very, very sorry if you thought — 
 but indeed 3'ou mistook. We were not laughing 
 at you " 
 
 She paused, colouring deeply. Her troubled 
 eyes were on the ground. Sincerity stamped 
 every feature. 
 
 " The girls thought it a joke that I should be 
 liked for myself; " with a suspicion of tears in her 
 voice. " Sir Patrick, you don't know, you can't 
 think how cruel girls are sometimes to me. They 
 are for ever hinting — sometimes they even say 
 to my face, that — that the men want my money. 
 I can't answer back. And I never have a chance, 
 because every one knows who I am wherever I go. 
 It's not my own money," she explained; " it's my
 
 'BOBBY' APPEARS UPON THE SCENE 197 
 
 uncle's ; uncle Jonathan Mercer's. But even he 
 is alwaj^s talking and thinking about it. He 
 would like me to swagger — oh, what am I saying '? 
 I never said this before — never. But you did like 
 me for myself, didn't you? And I liked you. And 
 after that day, when I never saw you again, I was 
 afraid you had heard us laughing. The laugh was 
 as much at me as at you. IMore. It was not very 
 kind, was it? But people in London aren't kind. 
 All they care for is to be amused. When I thought 
 it over, I was — sorry." 
 
 " Were you ? " His eyes gleamed. 
 
 " Yes, indeed. I wished I hadn't let you in for 
 it. I wished I had told you at the first. I wish 
 now " she paused. 
 
 Sir Patrick looked at her with a smile. " I wish 
 nothing now." 
 
 Ere they parted, he saw her to the lodge gates 
 of Losca. 
 
 Of all this Mary, as we know, made short 
 account when teUing the tale to the Mercers. 
 The bare outHnes indeed she gave, but there were 
 accompaniments of look and tone which had half 
 pleased, half disconcerted her, and which at any 
 rate were best kept to herself. She would not 
 again expose Sir Patrick to misconception. He
 
 198 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 was a nice little man, and should be treated 
 nicely. She might have forgotten all about him 
 — as indeed she had — but now that he had 
 ' cropped up ' again, why there he was. 
 
 "Come along, Sophy;" cried she, in fine spirits. 
 " Come along, before the tide turns. The shore 
 — the shore. We shan't meet any one down 
 there, at all events;" thinking she had had 
 enough of meetings for one day. 
 
 " Oh no, we shan't meet any one there; " echoed 
 Sophy, but her tone lacked the other's briskness. 
 " I generally go to meet the boat in the after- 
 noon;" she hinted. "It is the only fun we have, 
 just now." 
 
 Mary however, ran on, unheeding. 
 
 " I suppose we shall have to be back for The 
 Puddock's call;" tried Sophy, next. Anybody's 
 call was better than the dreary shore, to her 
 mind. 
 
 " For what ? " said Mary. "Back for what ? ' ' 
 
 " The Puddock." 
 
 " Who's ' The Puddock ' ? " 
 
 " Why Sir Patrick, of course. Didn't you 
 know ? He is always called that — at least he 
 used to be as a boy. An old woman told me.'' 
 
 " The Puddock ! " laughed Mary. Then check-
 
 'BOBBY' APPEARS UPON THE SCENE 199 
 
 ing herself. " It's a shame. It hits him off too 
 welL The Puddock ! I wonder who thouo^ht of 
 it. It's cruel " — but she laughed again. 
 
 " Isn't he ugly ? " said Sophy. 
 
 " I daresay ; " indifferently. 
 
 " I hate ugly men, don't you '? " 
 
 " Hate them ? What for ? " 
 
 " AVhy, for being ugly," said Sophy, promptly. 
 
 "Gracious me! — what does it matter? And 
 besides, that's nonsense ; you don't hate my 
 uncle, and he's not exactly — he's quite as ugly 
 as Sir Patrick." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean old men." 
 
 " You mean men that you are wanted to marry, 
 I suppose," said Mary, composedly. " Have they 
 been sticking Sir Patrick into you ? " 
 
 " Ye — ye — yes." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Don't you think it's too bad ? " 
 
 " Much too bad. I don't suppose he is ever 
 thinking of such a thing." 
 
 "Oh, but he is;" eagerly. "At least Mrs. 
 Mercer thinks he is. And she was quite angry 
 with me about it. She seemed to think I ought 
 to jump at him ! " 
 
 " And you don't jump ? "
 
 200 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 "As if I should," said Sophy, pettishly. 
 "Would you? Girls don't want ' Puddocks' for 
 their husbands." 
 
 " I think my uncle and aunt had better let Sir 
 Patrick alone. He has been worried enough 
 among us. And I don't think you need bother 
 your head" — (" it will take me all my time to keep 
 him off — " mentally) — " look here," said Mary, 
 with a sudden peremptoriness, " I didn't come 
 here to have that sort of thing starting at once. 
 Of course if there had been anything real — but 
 you say you don't want him, and I say he doesn't 
 want you. It's not complimentary, but you 
 needn't look so black. You ought to be thankful 
 there are no complications." 
 
 " Of course I am, and how can you say I look 
 black? I'm sure, I'm only too glad. But I 
 
 don't quite see how you " and Sophy shot a 
 
 suggestive glance. 
 
 '* I know men in and out ; however, I have 
 said my say, and if you don't believe me, you 
 needn't. Now, I go this way, and you go that; " 
 pointing hither and thither, " and we can meet 
 at those rocks down there." 
 
 (" She just did that to get rid of me; " quoth 
 Sophy sullenly to herself.)
 
 'BOBBY' APPEARS UPON THE SCENE 201 
 
 " What a nuisance it is having that girl here ; " 
 was Mary's comment on her part. " I knew 
 from the first I did not want her;" further 
 meditated she, " and now I want her less than 
 ever. If only old people would believe that young 
 ones don't always want to go in herds ! I could 
 have been quite happy here with only uncle Jo 
 and aunt Lou, — and Sir Patrick as an outlet 
 now and then. The poor ' Puddock ' ! Of course 
 I shan't let him get too far ; but for a trumpery 
 Sophy Gill — a second-rate — a fifth-rate girl, with 
 not even blowsy good looks, to turn up her nose 
 at him ! The idea of such a thing ! I shall 
 have to open her eyes. I shall just have to do 
 that. And she can't say it isn't fair, after to-day. 
 Ho ! there's a beauty," and she darted after a 
 shell. Presently in the ardour of the pursuit, 
 Sir Patrick and all about him was forgotten. 
 
 It must be remembered that lovers were thick 
 as leaves in Vallombrosa round my heroine. 
 That she saw them come and go, advance and 
 recede, turn tail and resume the charge again, 
 with the serenity born of conviction that no one 
 was wholly disinterested. As she said, she liad 
 not a chance. It was wise and prudent to love 
 her, wherefore the love that might have been,
 
 202 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 was converted insensibly with a love of inferior 
 quality. Mothers told their sons, and sisters told 
 their brothers that Mary Harborough was delight- 
 ful — but the sons and the brothers knew why 
 they were so told. 
 
 "How do you feel about it?" Lady Harborough 
 once asked her daughter. 
 
 " I don't ' feel ' at all," replied Mary. " When 
 I want to marry, I'll look about and see who 
 would do. And if I can find a fairly respectable 
 duke, or a prince willing to give up his rights of 
 succession " 
 
 " You absurd creature ; " fondly. 
 
 **Faihng these, I should rather like to endow 
 the church. 'Bishops are cheap at present,' but 
 an archbishop might make a hole in uncle Jo's 
 purse. It would be a new departure." 
 
 "Archbishops are invariably married men," 
 quoth Lady Harborough, a little bewildered. 
 
 " Are Lord Chancellors? One of them would 
 do at a pinch. I should like to have the half of 
 the Great Seal for my own, when a new one 
 was needed, I could make it into an ink- 
 pot." 
 
 " You would like to marry your grandfather, I 
 daresay ; " sarcastically.
 
 'BOBBY' APPEAES UPON THE SCENE 203 
 
 ' ' Heaven forbid ! You tell me my grandfather 
 used to " 
 
 " Figuratively, my dear, figuratively. I only 
 meant a man in point of age, your grandfather. 
 Well, Mary, all this means, I suppose, that you 
 are inclined to remain single at present ? " 
 
 Mary indicated that it did. 
 
 She had one admirer however, as to whom she 
 occasionally wavered. Lord Kobert Dashleigh in 
 many respects suited her, and Lord Robert's 
 wooing suited her very well indeed. 
 
 " I am quite ready to marry Mary Harborough, 
 as soon as ever she is ready to marry me;" he 
 told everybody ; and of course the saying reached 
 her ear. " If she likes, she can have me at any 
 time," drawled Bobby. 
 
 One day. Lady De Vesci called upon INIary's 
 mother. " Just a little word alone with you, 
 dear. It is about poor Lord Robert, (not ' the 
 Dashleigh boy ' on this occasion) does dear Mary 
 know? But of course she knows? He makes 
 no secret of his feelings ; and I do think it is 
 so good of him — so honourable — to hold back 
 because, as he tells every one, she ought to do 
 better. Now the question is. Will she do better ? 
 He is only a second son, to be sure, but the
 
 204 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 second son of a marquis could always be sure 
 of something — some Governorship or appointment 
 at an Embassy — something that Mary would like. 
 And of course there is always the possibility of 
 his succeeding, with his poor brother so delicate, 
 and no family. I am only putting these things 
 forward to you, dear ; Mary, of course will judge 
 for herself ; she can see how handsome and 
 charming he is ; I am sure to see him driving 
 his father's coach — and he is so terribly 
 run after — but we must not tell Mary 
 that " 
 
 "I really — don't — know;" said Lady Har- 
 borough, deliberately. 
 
 She was speaking the exact truth. She did 
 not know, neither did her daughter. Lord Robert 
 was the smartest and handsomest young man 
 in Town. And though he drawled, and said 
 funny things by way of not saying them ; and 
 generally affected a simplicity of demeanour which 
 was the envy of real fools, there was beneath it 
 all a considerable amount of mother wit. Mary 
 Harborough both liked Bobby and liked to talk 
 to him. 
 
 " Tell her I'm here; " said he. This was after 
 he had made it up with Lady De Vesci anent
 
 'BOBBY' APPEARS UPON THE SCENE 205 
 
 the river party ; and had confided truly in her, 
 by way of atonement. 
 
 "I'm here when I'm wanted. But if she's in 
 no hurry, neither am I. Tell her there's no 
 answer needed. She can have me at any 
 time." 
 
 " You know a great deal of that manner of his 
 is put on," alleged his spokeswoman. "And we 
 can all testify that he has never so much as 
 looked at a girl before. Not seriously. Fast ? 
 Oh, I don't know. I never heard so. All young 
 men, of course, — but I never heard a word against 
 Lord Robert. Indeed the Dashleighs are highly 
 respectable, as a rule. But now, do tell me," 
 getting somewhat quickly off the debatable land 
 — " do say, there's a dear creature, what you 
 think, and hovv- ijoii feel? You would have no 
 objection? Nor — nor Mary's uncle?" 
 
 At which Jonathan's sister smiled. 
 
 Lady De Vesci need not have tried carelessness 
 with her. 
 
 And she reported every word to Mary, even to 
 the last query. 
 
 Mary however, took it as nothing new. " Of 
 course they want the dibs," said she ; " but I 
 don't think Bobby wants them more than the
 
 206 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 rest do. I don't know that I could do better 
 than Bobby ; and if he lets me alone, we'll see 
 about it." 
 
 "All right; " said he, when this was repeated 
 to him. 
 
 "Do you think you hadn't better say some- 
 thing?" Lady De Vesci had suggested, at the 
 close of the season. "They are going away 
 now; ought you not to ?" 
 
 " Oh, dear no ! " said he. 
 
 But one day, a fortnight after Mary's arrival 
 at Losca Castle, when two sea-blown nymphs 
 came rollicking up from the island shore, wet 
 with spray and wild with spirits, there was a 
 visitor in the drawing-room, who was not Sir 
 Patrick Kinellan. 
 
 " Gracious me, it's Bobby ! " cried Mary, 
 throwing a laughing glance up at the window 
 beneath which the two were hurrying to enter 
 by a side door. "Bobby of all people!" She 
 did not add as another girl might have done, 
 "What's brought him here?" 
 
 " Who is Bobby ? " demanded her companion. 
 "Is he an a — a ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, an a — a, — that's just what Bobby is. 
 One of them ; " lightly. " One of the best, too.
 
 'BOBBY' APPEARS UPON THE SCENE 207 
 
 Well done, Bobby!" under her breath. "Glad 
 to see you, Bobby." 
 
 " But who is Bobby? " By this time the two 
 were inside. 
 
 "Don't you call him 'Bobby.'" Miss Har- 
 borough looked round, her chin slightly raised. 
 "He's a friend of mine; but even I only call 
 him ' Lord Kobert ' to his face. I am not one 
 of those girls who ' Dicky ' and ' Algy ' the 
 men." 
 
 "Is he a lord?" Sophy Gill's eyes grew 
 round. 
 
 " Not he. No such luck." 
 
 " You said " 
 
 " Never mind. You don't need to bother with 
 him. He'll go off with the boat, I suppose. 
 Looked me up, as he heard I was here. Hollo, 
 Lord Eobert ! " opening the door. " Saw it was 
 you ; " said Mary, shaking hands. 
 
 " Oh ! " thought Sophy from behind. She had 
 never seen such a man in her life. The tall, 
 slim, easy figure, the clear-cut profile, the pose 
 of the dark, glossy head, and faultless clothes — 
 taken all in all. Lord Bobert was a revelation 
 to her. 
 
 "So you are at large?" continued the other
 
 208 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 young lady, " and I suppose you heard I was 
 stopping here. Aunt Louisa," for Mrs. Mercer 
 was sitting by, struggHng with the situation, 
 "has Lord Bobert Dashleigh introduced himself? 
 Oh you've had tea," with a burst of reproach, 
 "we thought we were in splendid time." 
 
 " We had it early, my dear ; " her aunt glanced 
 at the visitor. " They will bring another tea-pot 
 for you." 
 
 Mary sat down and took off her hat. She was 
 looking lovely, and might as well have kept on 
 the picturesque green felt which so well became 
 the freshly tinted cheek beneath, — but our beauty 
 never thought of these things. The hat when 
 taken off was found to have pressed down her 
 loose brown hair, pressed it unbecomingly — but 
 no surreptitious fingers strayed that way. There 
 never was a less self-conscious creature. 
 
 " It was grand down on the shore," said she, 
 opening out on her lap a handkerchief filled with 
 weeds and shells. "Did you see us, as you 
 passed? " to the visitor. " We were close to the 
 boat. Was that why you came up? " 
 
 " Lord Robert is at the inn, my dear." 
 
 "Is he? What inn?" 
 
 " Why, the inn, Mary."
 
 •BOBBY' APPEARS UPON THE SCENE 209 
 
 "Do you mean Sandy Maccallum's? Is he 
 there / " significantly. 
 
 "It is not a very good inn, I'm afraid ; " began 
 her aunt. 
 
 "Jolly ba — ad," said Lord Robert, speaking 
 for the first time. At last he had found an 
 opening. 
 
 " Jolly bad, is it ? " said Mary, coolly. " You'd 
 better come here. Hadn't he, aunt ? " 
 
 "Certainly. Yes, indeed — Mr. Mercer and I 
 — most happy." Aunt Louisa rose to the occa- 
 sion ; with an irreproachable cook and a host of 
 empty bedrooms, she had no need to hesitate on 
 any materialistic score, while with a ' lord ' in 
 question, she could answer for Jonathan. She 
 must catch him by himself for a moment, and 
 he could be trusted to enter smiling. "I suppose 
 your luggage — may we send for your luggage ? " 
 she now addressed the young man, keeping an 
 eye for her husband's approach the while. 
 
 " Thanks awfully. But really — er " It is a 
 
 fact that the sublime Dashlei'gh for once in his 
 life looked very nearly disconcerted. What had 
 happened was what he had meant to happen, but 
 somehow it was too bare-faced. 
 
 " I was going on ; " he murmured, feebly. 
 15
 
 210 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Miss Harborough shook her shells together, 
 and tied the corners of the handkerchief. 
 
 "If yon ^oant to go on, Lord Robert, you can 
 just go on — but if you want to stay, we'll let you 
 stay. You do want ? Yes, I thought so ; it 
 would have been very rude to me to do anything 
 else, considering what old friends we are." 
 
 • Lord Robert looked at her. (" She's a dashed 
 sight too cool ; " thought he.) 
 
 "Well now, let's talk ; " continued Mary, tossing 
 her sea bundle about. " Don't let's waste time. 
 Aunt Louisa, you and Bophy will forgive us if 
 we talk shop, won't you ? We've got such a lot 
 to say, and I have seen none of my friends for 
 such ages. Oh, Lord Robert," with a rush, "-is it 
 true about Milly Brancaster and Captain Oaks?" 
 
 In a second the two were off at a gallop into 
 a world where none present could follow them.
 
 CHAPTEE IX 
 
 "WHAT TIME IS YOIW BOAT DUE V 
 
 rilWICE Lord Kobert looked at his watch while 
 ■^ being dressed for dinner. His nimble valet 
 had never known his lordship so fussy before. 
 
 But ' ' The middle-classes are always so infernally 
 punctual," muttered he to himself; and in con- 
 sequence he was ready long before the gong 
 sounded, and Frederick was sent to see if there 
 were any mistake ? 
 
 Frederick returned serene. " Not for another 
 .quarter of an hour, my lord." My lord sat down 
 with a sigh of relief. Quarter of an hour of 
 luxurious solitude ! 
 
 And here he was safely ensconced, all things 
 propitious. " Knew the middle-classes did thi'in- 
 selves well," reflected he, glancing n)und ; " but 
 this is really a cut above what I expected. Jolly
 
 212 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 house — good old josser — civil wife — fat girl to 
 play gooseberry (poor Sophy) — and Mary all 
 right." He hooked with an elegant toe, a chair 
 near, and rested two elegant limbs upon it. "I'll 
 stay here ; " concluded Bobby, on whose part it 
 was a condescension to stay anywhere. 
 
 But, as a fact, he was uncommonly short of 
 cash, and in response to filial application, had 
 been furnished with funds to go and look up 
 Mary Harborough. 
 
 At first he had resisted. There was no hurry. 
 Things were not ripe yet. He didn't know 
 where Mary was. 
 
 But a busybody of the family cut this latter 
 ground from under the dawdler's feet. Miss 
 Harborough was in the very place she ought to 
 be, at her uncle's — at the millionaire's — at Losca 
 Castle, in the Isle of Mull, — and what could be 
 better than that he should run her to earth 
 there ? Not only would he have an opportunity 
 of bringing matters to a point — (he had pro- 
 tested, but been silenced by cogent argument and 
 powerful authority) — but he could and must in- 
 gratiate himself Vv^ith the redoubtable uncle Jo. 
 
 " You knov/ you can be pleasant, if you like ; " 
 quoth Lady Emily, a vehement elder sister, who
 
 "WHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" 213 
 
 held that Bobby was a fool, with a fool's luck. 
 He had chanced to please a girl with a prospective 
 million, and, what was still more wonderful, to 
 be pleased with her. He must not be allowed 
 to ruin all by his " slackness." 
 
 " All right — all right — I'll go ; " he said, at last. 
 " Anything for a quiet Hfe." 
 
 She took, however, the precaution of seeing 
 him off; and also of seeing that he had very little 
 money to go elsewhere. Beneath such super- 
 vision Bobby was as nearly sulky as he knew 
 how to be ; but having surmounted the terrors 
 of the way, and finding all now going so com- 
 fortably, he forgave his tyrant, and even looked 
 round at the writing-table as he thought of her. 
 
 He never put pen and ink to paper, that was 
 not his way— but to-morrow he might send a wire. 
 " She means well, poor old girl ; " he smiled and 
 yawned. " She could come here for tlie shoot- 
 ing time;" he further projected, letting fancy 
 range. "Old fellows who do themselves well, 
 don't hang out long ; and Mary comes in for it 
 all. But confound it ! " his eye wandering to 
 the window, " she wouldn't want to be here in 
 October, would she? It's only to please iiiinky, 
 surely? For a couple of months, it would do —
 
 214 SIK PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 nice place and jolly comfortable, but " at this 
 
 moment the gong sounded. 
 
 Down went the gentleman's legs, and he stood 
 upright on the instant. 
 
 At the same instant the attentive Frederick 
 re-entered, having fully expected to find his 
 master napping, all his new-born energy vanished. 
 "It's serious this time, is it?" concluded the 
 valet, in consequence. 
 
 Still more certain would he have been of its 
 seriousness, had he been present during the 
 evening which followed. Bobby had been think- 
 ing, and the outcome of his thoughts was this. 
 " It's got to be done, or Emily will be in a deuce 
 of a rage. She says she won't stand between me 
 and the governor any more, if I fail her now. 
 If it hadn't been for Emily, we might have 
 waited a bit. However, even if we are engaged, 
 there's no need to hurry about the other thing. 
 She'll be content with the engagement, I sup- 
 pose ? And Mary is all right. Never saw her 
 looking better. She won't make a fuss, neither. 
 That's not her way, any more than mine. So 
 we'll just get it over quietly ; and if Emily 
 knows, she can do all the bother of telling people. 
 After all, it's — it's got to be done," concluded
 
 "AVHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" 215 
 
 he, passively, and yawned and stared at the 
 ceiling. 
 
 "Jolly good house " but he had just 
 
 started on the new vein when the second gong 
 sounded. 
 
 Quick as he was to obey its summons however, 
 both host and hostess were down before him. 
 " Knew it," he reflected, complacently. " Knew 
 that sharp's the word with the middle-classes." 
 As he was at Losca to please the middle-classes, 
 and through them his omnipotent sister^ he felt 
 really proud of himself. " Shouldn't wonder if 
 I were going to reform;" he smiled as he stood 
 on the hearth-rug. 
 
 It was hearth-rug time in the north, and a 
 blazing fire of wood and peat looked cheerful 
 and seasonable, despite the bright, clear weather. 
 The evenings were drawing in, and daylight had 
 departed by dinner-time for the last week or two 
 at Losca. 
 
 "You are better off here than you would have 
 been at Sandy Maccallum's, my lord." For the 
 life of him uncle Jo could see no harm in having 
 made such a remark, though he caught his niece's 
 frown as Lord Robert cheerfully acquiesced. 
 Why on earth? — he loas better off. "Why
 
 216 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 should I have left it to him to say so?" de- 
 manded he, as he led Mary along. 
 
 " It would have been better taste; " replied she. 
 
 "Taste? I know nothing about taste. I 
 have taken your fine gentleman in, made him 
 welcome to the best of everything, and mayn't 
 even pass a hospitable remark ! " 
 
 "Oh well, never mind," said Mary. And as the 
 others followed into the room, she v/as chatting 
 in her liveliest strain to uncle Jo. 
 
 It was naturally a little difficult to make uncle 
 Jo and Bobby chat together. Neither Mr. nor 
 Mrs. Mercer knew anything about the young 
 man's world, nor he about theirs. After a few 
 futile attempts, in which the one person present 
 who partially understood both, acted as a species 
 of interpreter, it was plain to all that if things 
 were not to fall flat, rein must be given once 
 more to the Londoners. " We had better do the 
 talking, and let them do the listening;" decided 
 Mary, and all at once she flared up. 
 
 " Go it, my girl ! " whispered uncle Jo to 
 himself, amazed and enchanted, as highsounding 
 names and places, reminiscences and tittle-tattle 
 of every sort, suddenly burst forth in one con- 
 tinuous stream, or rather torrent. " Come now,
 
 "WECAT TIME IS YOUE BOAT DUE?" 217 
 
 this is something hke!" his large ears lapping in 
 every word. " Sophy never heard anything like 
 this before;" noting with approval her devouring 
 countenance. " Sophy can go home and tell 'em 
 she heard my niece holding her own with the son 
 of a marquis — even if she hasn't more than that 
 
 to tell "' he broke off that, and rubbed his 
 
 hands under the table. " Miss Harborough didn't 
 do badly to run off to old uncle Jo, and let her 
 swain follow her. If I approve — and why 
 shouldn't I approve? You can't get everything. 
 There's only one between him and the title ; 
 anyway she'd be one of the family. And he's a 
 good-looking chap, and smart as you make 'em. 
 Ye 5, yes ; knev/ what he was about, to come 
 and pay his respects in this quarter. I might 
 have said ' No ' if I had only heard of it through 
 her ladyship, but a soft-headed old buffer likes 
 to see two young folks happy. Mary shall have 
 
 him if she wants to " and he passed the wine 
 
 cheerily. 
 
 " Look here, I know you sing ; " said Mary, in 
 the evening. " You sang that funny thing at your 
 people's concert " 
 
 " And broke down in it I I say, you are cruel," 
 said Bobby, equably. Then he turned to Mr.
 
 218 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Mercer. "A fellow must do what he's told, sir; 
 and I have a sister who likes to see us make fools 
 of ourselves. She's one of the charitable sort." 
 
 "You sang for a charity, eh?" Although 
 Lord Robert's remark might have been taken 
 two ways, Jonathan by luck hit on the speaker's 
 meaning. 
 
 " Had to," replied he, shaking his head. " Too 
 much fag to resist. Besides, no sort of use. 
 Never is any use to fight a sister." 
 
 "Nor to fight me," said Mary, interposing. 
 "Come along and sing at once," — producing 
 " The Circus Girl." 
 
 It was dreadful. Even old Jonathan Mercer 
 knew it was dreadful ; and even he wished they 
 would stop, and when they would not stop wished 
 he dared to leave the room. 
 
 First of all, a bit of a song was strummed in a 
 fairly promising manner, though regardless of 
 false notes ; then a feeble voice, not in the least 
 like Lord Robert's voice, was dimly conjectured 
 to be going to sing — that was as far as it ever 
 got, Lord Robert the while bending very low over 
 the music page, and being encouraged by divers 
 solitary notes of the melody, struck hard ; — then 
 the striker would stop to laugh — then go back to
 
 " WHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE ? " 219 
 
 the beginning — then there would again be the 
 strumming, the humming, the few hard notes — 
 and invariably the same stoppage and laughter. 
 
 Why in the name of wonder did Mary not sing 
 herself ? 
 
 But it was plain that Mary, for reasons of her 
 own, was not going to sing. She had a sweet, 
 natural voice, and had charmed her uncle and 
 aunt hitherto ; to-night she was deaf to hints, 
 merely rejoining " Oh, we are going to try some- 
 thing else;" every time Mrs. Mercer made a faint 
 suggestion. Mrs. Mercer did not venture to do 
 more ; both she and her husband having tacitly 
 agreed to let the young people steer their own 
 boat ; and accordingly she even so far did violence 
 to her feelings as to tap with her fan on the 
 table, while Jonathan emitted a bold ' Bravo ' 
 that nearly choked him, when piano and voice, 
 for once in unison, actually achieved a boisterous 
 conclusion. 
 
 But they alike breathed a sigh of relief when 
 the performers, apparently satisfied, turned to 
 something less aggressive. " Come along, Sophy, 
 we'll have a game. They don't play games; " said 
 Mary, nodding at the elders, (which was untrue, 
 for aunt Louisa played ' Patience ' morning, noon.
 
 220 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 and night). "We'll play ' Tiddliwinks,' " cried 
 she, producing a box of counters. " Never played 
 'Tiddliwinks?'" to Bobby, "Do you good to 
 learn, then ; " — and as the learning was simple, 
 and Bobby had delicate fingers, he shone more 
 decidedly than at the piano. "What's this?" 
 said uncle Jo, coming to look on. 
 
 "A lovely game ; " said Mary, hopping on to 
 two or three men in succession. 
 
 " Ripping ; " said Bobby, — but he missed his 
 stroke. " She left none for me," he explained, look- 
 ing up at the spectator. " She's simply a dead 
 shot ' ' ; regarding her with admiration . ' Tiddli- 
 winks ' occupied the remainder of the evening. 
 
 "I don't know when you go to bed," said Mr. 
 Mercer, as the ladies departed, "but " 
 
 "Oh, as soon as you please; " said Lord Eobert, 
 hastily. His own room with its comforts, his 
 cigar case, French novel, and ' night-cap,' rose 
 before his mind's eye, and his " Sea-air makes one 
 so jolly sleepy," followed accordingly, and was 
 graciously assented to. 
 
 " We are early people " 
 
 " Much the best way ; " said Bobby, who had 
 never been to bed early in his life. 
 
 " Pon my word, this is glorious! " thought he
 
 "WHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" 221 
 
 afresh, as he got into his dressing-gown ; " Sandy 
 Mac-stinker's indeed!" — with a thrill of dis- 
 gust. 
 
 " Are they doing you well downstairs, Fred- 
 erick ? " he condescended to inquire in the 
 plenitude of his satisfaction. 
 
 Frederick had no fault to find. 
 
 " We — er — may be here some little time," quoth 
 his lordship, sipping from a very long tumbler. 
 " S'pose you won't object, eh ? " 
 
 Frederick smiled. 
 
 " Can you amuse yourself? " 
 
 " If you please, my lord, shall you want me to- 
 morrow ? I mean after your lordship is down for 
 the day? Only for a few hours, my lord. Me 
 and the first footman — he's from my part ; it's 
 near where this fam'ly lives in the winter — we 
 had an idea, if we wasn't specially required, of 
 climbing the mountain " 
 
 " Wh — at?" Lord Robert, intensely amused, 
 stopped with the tumbler mid-way to his lips. 
 " Climbing the mountain ! You ! " 
 
 " Very partial to mountaineering, always was," 
 said Frederick, gravely. " In Switzerland, with 
 Captain Bellingham as was a climber, he kindly 
 always took me, — never went without me — 1 have
 
 222 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 my alpenstock at home, my lord; " with modest 
 pride. 
 
 " And you want to climb this Ben Something 
 or other?" 
 
 " If you please, my lord." 
 
 "Now if that doesn't fetch the old un ! " 
 reflected Bobby, with a chuckle. " He wanted 
 to get me up the Ben ; but I'll do my climbing 
 by proxy. I'll stick to Mary and the shore. 
 Frederick's a jewel ; " — and he smoked and 
 sipped, and let the novel lie unopened on his 
 knee. He was almost excited. 
 
 Nothing therefore was less expected, more dis- 
 concerting, not to say appalling than the first 
 remark which fell from the rosy lips of his 
 mistress directly after her morning greeting. 
 
 She came down looking so fresh, so pretty, so 
 gay and charming altogether, that poor Sophy 
 Gill who had been dressing for hours, but who 
 had comparatively nothing to dress on or in — no 
 personal attractions, nor a frock that could com- 
 pete with a tailor-made coat and skirt of the latest 
 cut — could not but sink still more humbly into 
 the background than she had done the day before. 
 It was hopeless to try for Lord Eobert's notice, 
 he would not even affect to bestow it.
 
 "WHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" 223 
 
 But he was prepared for any attention, within 
 bounds, for the old couple. 
 
 It was another still, blue, October day, and 
 Nature at its fairest, appealed even to his jaded 
 instincts. 
 
 " Slept jolly well, Frederick; " he had observed, 
 as Frederick prepared his bath. " Hope you slept 
 well, Frederick ? " 
 
 Frederick thanked his lordship, and had enjoyed 
 an excellent night's repose. 
 
 "Still going to climb the mountain?" The 
 master's own resolutions being so very evanescent, 
 it was a matter of real interest to know if those of 
 the night before still held good in the heart of 
 his valorous retainer. 
 
 " I believe so, my lord." 
 
 "Let me know when you come down," said 
 Lord Kobert, kindly. " And — and don't overdo 
 yourself, Frederick. Mountains are — are very 
 ■high. Don't go higher than you need. And if 
 you haven't a flask " 
 
 "Oh, thank you, my lord, I have a flask; and 
 the housekeeper is a very civil person, and is 
 going to attend to us herself." 
 
 " Pon my word, Fredcnck's in c-lovcr," quotb 
 Bobby to himself, as he was left alone.
 
 224 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 He had mapped out his own day while dressing, 
 although the mapping, perhaps, did not amount 
 to much. He would do whatever he was told — 
 that was its main outline ; whether yachting, 
 driving, or ' loafing ' pure and simple were the 
 order of the day, he would be as wax in the hands 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Mercer and their lovely niece. 
 
 And of course he would tell his host of 
 Frederick's adventurous energy ; that sort of 
 thing always gratifies a host. But he would nip 
 in the bud any evil suggestions to which it might 
 give rise. Indeed, he had already nipped these, 
 and could approach the subject without alarm. 
 
 There was another subject, however, to be 
 approached not so easily. Should he or should he 
 not take a step forward on the mission which had 
 brought him thither ? He found himself contem- 
 plating doing so. 
 
 Only a step — because a step once taken could 
 not be retrieved ; but still if occasion offered, and 
 all was propitious " I might throv/ out a feeler," 
 considered he. 
 
 Before he was ready, however, the ' feeler ' 
 hung in the balance. It was so much easier to 
 tell Lady De Vesci that Mary could have him at 
 any time, and that there was no hurry, than to
 
 "\VHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" 225 
 
 pin both her and himself down beneath old 
 Jonathan Mercer's millionarish eye. No getting 
 out of it, once that eye were favourable. " There 
 would be no chance of his suggesting to wait ; " 
 sighed Bobby. " It's all right, as I tell Emily. 
 I'm quite agreeable ; all I ask for is time to 
 breathe." 
 
 He had no pride ; he did not care in the least 
 who knew or did not know about this or any 
 other of his concerns ; he would have consulted 
 Frederick, were he not already conscious of a 
 strong undercurrent propelling him forward, a 
 kind of mute invisible urgency, which could have 
 emanated from no one but the faithful valet. 
 " Frederick's worse than Emily ; " he would 
 peevishly assert at times. " I can talk it out with 
 her, but I daren't say a word to him." 
 
 And with all this seething in his brain, down 
 stepped Bobby to the breakfast room, conscious 
 -only of a vague, pleasurable sensation, and certain 
 only of this, that abundance of leisurely oppor- 
 tunity lay before him. 
 
 Alas, poor Bobby ! INIary took her place at the 
 breakfast table. 
 
 "What time is your boat due? " observed she, 
 carelessly. "Yes, please, some fishballs, uncle. 
 16
 
 226 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Of course j^ou can't know exactly ; " returning to 
 Lord Eobert across the table. " The boats are so 
 demoralised at this herring season ; I heard about 
 that when I came here ; it means that a boat has 
 to wait at each pier till all the herring barrels are 
 in ; and there may be many, or there may be few ; 
 so that no one can tell how long they will take to 
 be shipped, — but you need not be uneasy, Lord 
 Bobert, because we can always get down in time, 
 even if the boat has rounded Ardnamurchan Point 
 before we can see her smoke. What I was 
 thinking of was, that as you probably don't need 
 to think of going before the afternoon, — you don't, 
 do you ? It would do if you got to the mainland 
 by evening ? Well then, we might go somewhere 
 first ? Or, stop ; I have a great idea. My uncle 
 might " 
 
 " Certainly. There's the yacht," said he. 
 " We'll put your friend across with pleasure." 
 
 " It would be most awfully good of you if you 
 would ; " said Lord Robert. Not a muscle of his 
 face betrayed him. 
 
 " I don't know very much about the distances," 
 proceeded he, in accents of reflective consideration, 
 — (Mary had given him time, by her lengthy 
 opening address ; and besides doing this, she had
 
 "WHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" 227 
 
 kept her uncle busy unlading his dishes, by which 
 means his astonishment was also reined in) — 
 " but I must get there sooner or later" ; and he 
 shook his head profoundly. For ' there ' he would 
 not, if asked, have knov/n what word to sub- 
 stitute. 
 
 "I daresay after luncheon would do, then?" 
 Mary, busy with breakfast, could apparently 
 speak with indilference of luncheon — or of 
 ' after ' it. 
 
 " After luncheon would suit me perfectly ; " said 
 Lord Robert. " Only," and he turned to address 
 his host with a studiously deferential air, " only I 
 should be so sorry to be a nuisance. Why should 
 I give you the bother of taking out your yacht '? 
 There are plenty of boats. It's onlj'^ Fort William 
 I'm going to," with a desperate dive into memory, 
 and a violent struggle of the imagination. "I 
 can get there by land. I can easily hire. Drivmg 
 over the moors is so — so healthy. It will be so — 
 
 so " (" Oh, you minx ! " he was saying to 
 
 himself.) 
 
 He thought he could trust Frederick ; Frederick 
 knew everything of course ; but though he, as 
 vrell as his master, had laid his plans, his manners 
 were equally irreproachable.
 
 228 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " Suppose we drive in the morning, then? " said 
 Mary, in clear, brisk, anticipatory tones. " Sup- 
 pose we show Lord Robert the other side of the 
 island? And what do you say," addressing her 
 aunt, " to looking in at Kinellan? It is such a 
 romantic old place ; and we could excuse our going 
 so early to Sir Patrick, because really it is Lord 
 Robert's only time." 
 
 (" Owing to you ; " thought Lord Robert, indig- 
 nantly.) 
 
 But he continued to eat and drink, and even 
 contrived to throw a species of pleased expectation 
 into the glance he cast towards the head of the 
 table. 
 
 Mrs. Mercer poured some tea straight into the 
 tea-tray. " Dear me ! T was thinking of some- 
 thing else," said she. " What — what were you 
 saying, my dear? " 
 
 (" What, indeed ! " mentally echoed Bobby.) 
 
 " I said it plainly enough, aunt." A slight im- 
 patience on the part of the beauty. " I thought 
 you were listening;" severely. "It was about 
 Kinellan. I suggested we should storm Kinellan. 
 Sir Patrick is always asking us " 
 
 " Certainly. But " 
 
 " Oh, never mind ' buts.' He won't."
 
 "WHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" 229 
 
 "Very well, my dear," tremulously. ("What 
 can she be dreaming of ? To go to his very house ! 
 To go with the other man! To take him and 
 
 parade him ") "Yes, yes, Mary. Yes, I think 
 
 we really — Sir Patrick would understand, as you 
 say. Though we never have gone like this " 
 
 " That is no reason why we never should. Shall 
 we order the carriage at eleven ? " 
 
 "You won't have the yacht?" interposed 
 Jonathan. 
 
 " We'll have it later. At three, or half past. 
 I run this show, as you see ; " Mary laughed across 
 the table. *' I don't always. Lord Robert ; but 
 you are my guest, and I have got to see you well 
 done by, " 
 
 (" You wicked, wicked minx! " thought he.) 
 
 " So it's settled that we spend the day in the 
 open air ; " the young lady ran on. " Sophy, you 
 can come too. We'll have out the big carriage. 
 And look here," to the abject Bobby, " don't you 
 be late. Eleven means eleven in this house " 
 
 (" Middle-classes," commented he, this time 
 with an angry groan.) 
 
 — " And of course you must have your little 
 smoke, or your any number of little smokes, 
 first. You can go out on the terrace, and I'll
 
 230 SIE PATKICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 keep an eye on you from my window. Don't go 
 out of sight. Aunt Lou, I have letters to answer, 
 may I go ? " 
 
 "Mary, Mary, what is all this about?" cried 
 aunt Lou, behind the door. " Is it his doing ; or 
 
 your doing? Or whose doing ? Is it ? " 
 
 " My dear aunt, v/hat are you talking about ? " 
 "I'm talking about Lord Bobert Dashleigh," 
 said the old lady, sturdily; "of course he came 
 
 because you were here " 
 
 " And he is going for the same reason." 
 
 " You have refused him, Mary ? " 
 
 " Not at all. He has never asked me." 
 
 " Yet you say he is going because " 
 
 " Because I'm here. So he is. Because I have 
 engaged to rid the house of his presence. Because 
 a few more hours of it vv^ould — my dear," affec- 
 tionately, "you and uncle Jonathan are good and 
 kind and simple, you are no match for people like 
 Bobby Dashleigh. I don't want to open your 
 eyes till he's gone ; you may as well go on being 
 civil to him for the short remainder of his stay — 
 (for you won't see him again at Losca Castle," in 
 parenthesis) — "but you shall never be able to 
 cast it up to me that if I brought him down upon 
 you, I did not also deliver you from him."
 
 "WHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" 231 
 
 " You — you seemed so glad to see him, Mary?" 
 
 "I was glad — a little glad — for a little time. 
 Bobby is nice enough in his own way, and in his 
 own place. But here "■ — and she looked round, 
 her eyes suddenly lighting up—" here ! My dear 
 aunt, I can't tell you what I felt when I woke 
 this morning and remembered he was here." 
 
 " Mary ! " 
 
 " I did, indeed. But not a word to uncle Jo, 
 or Sophy. We must keep it up. Bobby has a 
 nasty edge to his tongue " 
 
 " Oh, my dear, don't speak like that. Bather 
 say we must not fail in hospitality." 
 
 " All right ; " Mary laughed. " Sounds better, 
 doesn't it ? And Bobby's nasty edge is pretty 
 feeble. He does not go out of his way to be 
 malicious; he only spits out little venomous 
 pebbles when they lie right under his tongue. 
 There are many others like him in London." 
 
 " London must be a " Mrs. Mercer checked 
 
 herself. " You don't give London a very good 
 name, Mary." 
 
 " Because London — mij London — is not a very 
 good place, aunt." 
 
 " A place is what you make it, my dear." 
 
 Mary shrugged her shoulders.
 
 232 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " Sometimes I think I should like to cut it alto- 
 gether ; " she began, then hesitated, as though on 
 the brink of saying something more. " Aunt 
 Louisa?" interrogatively. 
 
 "Well?" said her aunt. 
 
 " Would uncle Jo — what would he say if — has 
 he set his heart on — but," with a sudden change 
 of tone, " I won't bother with it now. First, get 
 rid of Bobby; then we'll see ; " oracularly. " One 
 thing at a time ; " and she moved off. 
 
 With this idea, who so lively and full of spirits 
 presently, as Miss Harborough, " Out on the 
 spree" as she said, — though 'Why, the spree?' 
 mentally demanded the disconsolate young man 
 who sat opposite ? 
 
 He had been offered the box-seat, Mary herself 
 suggesting " Like to sit up there? " — (Whereat a 
 young footman who wanted to go elsewhere, 
 blessed her in his heart, foreseeing deliverance ;) — 
 but Lord Eobert had pleaded miserably, " There's 
 no back up there." 
 
 He felt spiritless and backless, only fit to crawl 
 inside and loll. 
 
 He had not wished to come to Losca ; indeed 
 when the scheme was originally propounded, he 
 had stigmatised it as absurd and disagreeable, and
 
 "WHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" 233 
 
 an invention of Lady Emily — (which phrase had 
 its own interpretation for him), — but having 
 drunk the nauseous draught, and found it less 
 unpalatable than it might have been, it took all 
 the life out of him to find he would have done 
 well not to raise the cup to his lips. " Made 
 a mess of it altogether! " he told himself; but 
 even as he thus spoke, a gleam flitted across his 
 brow. It would be something to tell his sister 
 that the mess had been made. 
 
 From such perfunctory consolation the dreamer 
 was however somewhat sharply roused by an 
 exclamation from the ladies. They were now 
 within the precincts of Kinellan, and had simul- 
 taneously caught sight of its owner, at a bend of 
 the avenue. " Stop ; " cried they both; and the 
 next minute Sir Patrick stood by the carriage 
 door. 
 
 " We were hoping you might excuse an early 
 call," began Mrs. Mercer, " but Lord Eobert 
 Dashleigh " — Dashleigh bowed, and Sir Patrick 
 responded — " has to leave us this afternoon, and 
 — and " 
 
 "And he can't go without seeing Kinellan." 
 Sir Patrick raised his eyes to the new speaker's 
 face. " We knew you would let us come," con-
 
 234 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 tinned the easy-going voice; "7 knew, anyway. 
 My aunt thought it rather cool, " 
 
 " We only want to look round ; " put in the aunt. 
 
 " Suppose we all get out ? " said Mary. 
 
 A mischievous delight sparkled in her eyes, an 
 incomprehensible vivacity dictated her move- 
 ments. She threw back the carriage rug and 
 stood upright, looking to be let loose as a bird 
 from its cage ; — she flashed glances from one to 
 another which had in them such covert amuse- 
 ment and significance, that the gravity on every 
 other face deepened, — and she finally alighted on 
 the velvet turf by Sir Patrick's side with a spring 
 that was little short of a flying leap. 
 
 Sir Patrick's disregarded hand still remained 
 stretched out. 
 
 He felt bewildered and mystified, conscious of 
 something in the air, and unable to divine what 
 it was. 
 
 For the past fortnight he had been thinking, 
 breathing, dreaming — Mary : but Mary in the 
 flesh he had only seen a few times. 
 
 "'Why doesn't that 'Puddock' come over 
 oftener?" she had cried to Sophy, again and 
 again. "Why doesn't he, I say?" And in so 
 many words she had desired him to come.
 
 "WHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" 235 
 
 He had smiled and thanked her and complied 
 reservedly. Then he had gone home to silence 
 the great throbs of his heart, and force down by 
 sheer dint of will, its sophistries. 
 
 Why, oh why, had this thing come upon him ? 
 
 Once Mary sang. It was not singing time, not 
 the recognised hour for musical performance, — 
 but Sir Patrick, rising to depart at the close of 
 a formal call, had been thrust back into his seat 
 by well-meaning hands, " For it's simply pelting," 
 cried Jonathan, — and while it pelted, and while 
 the visitor, thus detained, sat still in the dusky 
 twilight, Miss Harborough wandered to the 
 piano. 
 
 AVe have said that she had a sweet voice, and 
 it was moreover one which touched and pene- 
 trated. The pure notes fell upon one listener's 
 ear like fountain drops upon a thirsty land. 
 
 By little and little he approached her. Ordinai-y 
 politeness dictated some token of appreciation, 
 some semblance of gratitude ; at last he was 
 standing by her side, his broad chest heaving, 
 his fingers trembling as he turned the leaves. 
 
 " I do think Mary ought to let that man alone ; " 
 said Mrs. Mercer, crossly. 
 
 Long ago she had seen her hopes in another
 
 236 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 quarter vanish, and thanked her stars that 
 matters had gone no further; while a side issue 
 of the affair afforded her unmitigated satisfaction. 
 All subsequent good behaviour on the part of poor 
 plain Sophy Gill, could never quite obliterate from 
 the mind of her patroness the fact that Sophy 
 hated ugly men. 
 
 In consequence, triumph had been great in the 
 first instance when the beautiful Mary openly 
 declared in favour of the despised Sir Patrick. 
 
 Mary, however, wiling the heart out of The 
 Puddock's bosom with witching songs and looks, 
 was quite another matter. "She just shan't;" 
 said Mary's aunt, and wended her way with reso- 
 lute feet pianowards. 
 
 But she could do nothing with the two when 
 she got there. Mary told her to sit down, and 
 played the prelude of a fresh melody, while Sir 
 Patrick pulled round a chair for his hostess. 
 
 He did not occupy one himself ; he returned to 
 stand and absorb. 
 
 " Do you like that? " enquired the singer, turn- 
 ing up her face. 
 
 If he had been stone, marble, Portland cement 
 — he must have liked it. His dark cheek burned, 
 his eyes glowed.
 
 "WHAT TIME IS YOUR BOAT DUE?" 237 
 
 "This will never do;" Mrs. Mercer beat the 
 floor with her feet. " Sir Patrick ? " she said, 
 aloud. 
 
 Sir Patrick heard nothing. 
 
 " Sir Patrick '? " 
 
 He started, and turned on her a blank look. 
 
 "Let me send you home in a close carriage," 
 cried she, with a happy idea — {" Of course he'll say 
 he won't have it, and then he must go," inwardly) — 
 " Do, Sir Patrick. It's getting late " 
 
 " Is it?" said he, dreamily. 
 
 "Late? Nonsense," said Mary; but after a 
 momentary hesitation, warned perhaps by her 
 aunt's tone, she rose from the music - stool. 
 "There, it is only six o'clock; " said she, as a 
 timepiece rang out the hour. 
 
 Sir Patrick, however, understood he had to go, 
 and now indeed was almost glad to go. 
 
 He shivered as he hurried home beneath the 
 wreathing mists — but not with cold. — He, cold? 
 He was hot — hot as fire. 
 
 And strange sounds were heard that night 
 emanating from the far corner of th vast saloon, 
 where the unused old piano stood. 
 
 Only the narrow lid covering the notes was 
 raised, as though surreptitiously.
 
 238 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Two candles lit the corner, with a pale, faint 
 light. 
 
 And here Sir Patrick was softly picking out 
 tunes with one finger, like a child ; correcting 
 himself by ear, when he made a mistake ; — and 
 here he was disturbed presently by his after- 
 dinner coffee ; and turned with a start, and 
 muttered something that might have been an 
 apology when he found it at his elbow. 
 
 It was a chill, silent night, and the servants 
 were glad when the eerie sounds ceased.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ''DID HE SAY IT WAS IMPUDENT?" 
 
 rjlHIS had happened very shortly before Lord 
 Robert Dashleigh's appearance on the scene, 
 and Sir Patrick had not been met by any of the 
 Losca people since. He had rigidly kept out of 
 their way. 
 
 He could not, however, anticipate an invasion 
 so early in the day, and might have deemed his 
 own secluded grounds impregnable at almost any 
 time ; wherefore he was now most literally taken 
 at unawares, as one person of the party, at any 
 •rate, intended him to be. 
 
 She had an idea that he would appear to 
 advantage — and he did. Whatever his private 
 sensations might be, no one would have guessed 
 from Sir Patrick's outward demeanour that he 
 was experiencing anything but the courteous 
 desire of a host to gratify the inclinations of his 
 
 239
 
 240 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 guests, and to exhibit for their pleasure and 
 amusement anything he had to show. 
 
 He walked first, escorting Mrs. Mercer; Lord 
 Eobert, with the young ladies, followed. 
 
 They turned aside when within a short distance 
 of the house, and the spacious, old-fashioned 
 gardens, well-stocked, well-cared for, and rich 
 with ruddy-tinted fruit, were duly exhibited and 
 pillaged from. They strolled down broad grass 
 paths between a bright tangle of autumn flowers 
 on either side, and entered the greenhouses, 
 steaming with moist fragrance. 
 
 " Sir Patrick," said Mary, running forward, 
 "are we to nip and pick?" 
 
 "Anything and everything;" said he, with a 
 smile. 
 
 "What a lovely rose!" It was pure white, 
 and hung towards the speaker. She looked from 
 it to its owner, with arch, piquant, provocative 
 interrogation. There was but one thing for him 
 to do. 
 
 "Do you hear? We are all to take what we 
 like ; " said she, turning to the rest. " Sir Patrick 
 says so. This rose is my beginning, but I must 
 have some more. Lord Eobert, don't you want a 
 buttonhole? "
 
 "DID HE SAY IT WAS IMPUDENT?" 241 
 
 (" Just as if we had nothing at Losca I " 
 muttered Mrs. Mercer.) 
 
 But Sir Patrick looked placidly on. He was 
 accustomed to having his gardens admired ; and 
 presently he led the party through a mossy 
 archway to see a ruined chapel ; and again over 
 a rustic bridge and up a steep incline towards the 
 terrace, his favourite resort. 
 
 "Isn't it a dear old place?" He heard the 
 enthusiastic voice behind, and did not turn his 
 head. 
 
 Whereat, Mary again ran on, and joined him. 
 She was forever flitting between the two 
 groups ; either appealing to one man or the 
 other. 
 
 She would see everything ; and show Lord Robert 
 everything. 
 
 The fine old hall with its trophies ; the panelled 
 corridors with their faded tapestries ; the pictures 
 -^mostly family portraits; the views from the 
 long deep-set windows. 
 
 She took what might have been a proprietary 
 pride in the grey walls now shining in the sun- 
 Hght, but strong to bear the brunt of the wildest 
 storms. Once she might have been seen looking 
 from them to the gentle face of their lord ; 
 
 17
 
 242 SIR PATRICK; THE PUDDOCK 
 
 perhaps she was thinking of a curious resem- 
 blance between the two. 
 
 No one else enjoyed the scene. Mrs. Mercer 
 was irritated with so much display ; Lord Robert 
 felt affronted and bored : Sophy, limp and envious ; 
 while from time to time, across the proud, noble 
 brow of their host, there flitted a look of pain. 
 
 "There, now we've seen everything;" cried 
 the saucy girl, at last. "Every single thing; 
 and it's all beautiful. Now we'll leave you in 
 peace ; " nodding to Sir Patrick : — (Well she knew 
 there would be no peace for him !) " Go back to 
 your owls and your bats, and think how much 
 nicer they are than horrid people like us. Aunt, 
 the carriage. Oh, here it is. Dear me, I've 
 dropped my rose : " wheeling round so suddenly 
 as nearly to knock against those behind. 
 
 " It is here ; " said Sir Patrick, in a low voice. 
 
 And he held it out to her, and she took it, but 
 the glib retort on her lips did not find an utter- 
 ance. With a mere "Thank you" she fastened 
 it somewhat hurriedly once more in her bosom, 
 and he watched in silence. 
 
 Mrs. Mercer now prepared to make due acknow- 
 ledgements. 
 
 " I'm sure we are very much obliged to you,"
 
 "DID HE SAY IT WAS IMPUDENT?" 243 
 
 said she stepping up to her host, feeling that so 
 much ought to be said, despite her own thoughts 
 and reservations. "You have been very kind, 
 and " 
 
 "And patient," again the laughing, heedless 
 voice interposed. "You have borne with us to 
 admiration. Come to me for a character when 
 you want a situation." 
 
 " Oh," cried Mary, stepping back as she was 
 about to follow her aunt into the carnage, " I 
 think I'll have my cloak on. Give it me, Sophy. 
 
 And will you ?" She came close up to Sir 
 
 Patrick and turned on him the full lustre of two 
 soft, beseeching eyes ; then slowly held the cloak 
 towards him. 
 
 He drew it round her. As he did so, the lowest, 
 sweetest murmur floated between, " Forgive me." 
 A deep flush mounted to his cheek. . . . 
 
 But Bobby found his charmer positively un- 
 bearable during the remaining hours of his stay 
 at Losca Castle. Hitherto to be tormented by 
 her had been one of the pensive pleasures of his 
 life, but there was a novel flavour in her present 
 badinage which was simply odious to his palate. 
 
 It was no longer good-natured ; it stung, and 
 he was sure she meant it to sting.
 
 244 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " 'Pon my word, I wouldn't be paid to live with 
 that girl ! " cried he to himself, smarting all over. 
 "And one thing I know, she and Emily would 
 have been at each other hke fighting cocks before 
 a month was out. Lucky she has shown her 
 teeth, the vixen ! And won't I tell Emily what 
 she nearly let me in for? It's the middle-class 
 temper," he decided, conscious of giving "a 
 nasty one " in return, by the allusion. " They're 
 a low lot, and dear at the price;" disgust in- 
 creasing. 
 
 "And now I've got to go and be sick on his 
 beastly yacht ! " For the day had clouded over, 
 and a wind was getting up. " And she'll be there 
 to grin at me ! " concluded the wretched youth, at 
 his lowest ebb. 
 
 But he was spared this last straw. 
 
 " Take him away ; " Mary issued commands to 
 her uncle in as imperious a tone as though he, 
 not she, had saddled them with the incubus. 
 " For goodness sake, uncle Jo, don't say it is 
 too rough. You don't mind, and we'll lump his 
 feelings. Oh, yes ; I know what I am doing. I 
 have given Bobby a trial, and he won't need 
 another. It has been a little hard on him; but 
 he brought it on himself. He ought never to
 
 "DID HE SAY IT WAS IMPUDENT?" 245 
 
 have let me see him out of London. To come 
 down here, to put himself into comparison 
 
 with " she checked herself and ran on hastily. 
 
 "Now just cart him oft", there's a dear; and let 
 us be done with it. I won't go. Sophy can, if 
 she likes." 
 
 " She must. I can't have him by himself ; " 
 cried Jonathan, alarmed. 
 
 "All right. She's expecting it. Perhaps it 
 will cure her new-born adoration too ; " with a 
 grim touch. " Bobby won't look nice at sea. 
 Now, uncle," — finger upheld — " I've got a head- 
 ache. Understand ? " 
 
 But he caught her sleeve as she turned to go. 
 
 " One word, Mary. This is the end of it? " 
 
 " Pooh ! It wasn't big enough to have an 
 end ; " contemptuously. 
 
 " You couldn't fancy him? " Somewhat crest- 
 fallen. 
 
 "That was just what I could have done. I 
 could have * fancied ' him, if he had never let me 
 see him except in London ball-rooms, or at polo- 
 matches and race-meetings — he looked lovely at 
 Ascot and Hurlingham, he really did,— and though 
 one's hfe isn't made up of Ascot and Hurlingham, 
 I might have been fooHsh enough to— you know
 
 246 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 what. But that's over; I've seen Bobby as 
 Bobby is, and he's simply no go. You are dis- 
 appointed, dear?" — more gently. "And I am 
 sorry, for I wouldn't vex you for the world. 
 Aunt Lou has been very good and kind too. I 
 should have liked to please you both " 
 
 " Never mind ; never mind," said he. 
 
 " There are better fish than he in the sea, 
 uncle Jo. We'll throw out another net one of 
 these days." 
 
 " Aye, aye, Mary." 
 
 " So you just get this thing out of the way, and 
 don't worry about him." 
 
 " So I will ; " said he, lighting his pipe. 
 
 Mrs. Mercer, however, was not so phlegmatic. 
 
 " I must say I'm surprised at Mary ; " she drew 
 her husband aside on his return from accomplish- 
 ing his mission. " Not that I thought much of 
 Lord Eobert ; he had a silly laugh, and was for- 
 ever yawning when he went to the window by 
 way of looking out — but he was the same to-day 
 that he was yesterday, when she made quite a 
 work with him — it was ' Lord Robert, do you 
 remember this ? ' and ' Lord Robert, what did 
 you think of that ? ' — all their fine Loudon talk, 
 and seeming as pleased as Punch with each other
 
 "DID HE SAY IT WAS IMPUDENT?" 247 
 
 — so how was the poor man to? — 1 do think 
 Mary — " strugghng between righteous severity 
 and accustomed indulgence, " I do think she did 
 not behave as I should have liked a daughter of 
 mine to behave." 
 
 "Your daughter," burst forth Jonathan, for he 
 had been thinking so nearly the same thing 
 himself, that he could not endure to hear it said. 
 " Your daughter, ma'am, and my niece are — 
 would have been — different persons." 
 
 " Humph ! " said she, drawing herself up. " I 
 suppose she would have been your daughter too ? 
 Don't be ridiculous. I'm as fond of Mary as I 
 can be, but I can see her faults ; which you never 
 could nor would. That's what has spoilt her." 
 
 " Spoilt her! " cried he, reddening. 
 
 "Well, she is self-willed, Jonathan. And 
 masterful. And thinks the world was made 
 for her — Oh, you'll say it was " 
 
 "I'll stand by her, anyhow." 
 
 " And you don't think she has treated poor 
 Lord Kobert badly?" 
 
 He did think so, but did not choose to say so. 
 
 " It's no business of ours ; " he alleged, stoutly. 
 "We don't understand how they manage these 
 things in high life. Mary does; and she made
 
 248 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 no more of sending her fine gentleman to the 
 right about than I should of dismissing a ghillie 
 boy. You may trust Mary ; " uneasily. 
 
 Mrs. Mercer coughed behind her hand. Her 
 husband had not seen what went on at Kinellan. 
 
 " There'll be another there ; " muttered she, to 
 herself — but she could not bring herself to broach 
 the subject of Sir Patrick. Jonathan had moods; 
 and, from long experience, she knew that he was 
 now in an unmanageable mood. She knew that 
 he was neither speaking, nor thinking the truth ; 
 that is, he was forcing himself to accept as 
 straightforward dealing that from which his own 
 integrity revolted. A wife must needs pity a 
 husband in such straits. 
 
 " I'll not give him another pill to swallow ; " 
 decided she, sacrificing her desire for sympathy. 
 " Time enough for it, when he has digested this." 
 Aloud, " Ahem ! " 
 
 Jonathan regarded her with lowered brows. 
 Was she going to begin it all over again ? 
 
 " You would have a nasty crossing? " said the 
 old lady, mildly. 
 
 A grunt. 
 
 " Poor Sophy would be frightened? " 
 
 He faced round, and stood before her.
 
 "DID HE SAY IT WAS IMPUDENT?" 249 
 
 " Look here, old lady, never mind the crossing, 
 and never mind Sophy. Let's have this out. I'm 
 not saying I don't agree with you to a certain 
 extent — only to a certain extent, mind," emphati- 
 cally, " about that young man. I wish she hadn't 
 let it go so far " 
 
 *' Oh, Jonathan, that's ail I mean, indeed it is. 
 But when I think of our all sitting round the 
 dinner-table last night, so brisk and comfortable, 
 and Mary looking like a princess " — a relenting 
 gleam relaxed his features — " didn't she now, in 
 that lovely, shiny, white dress? And such spirits 
 as she was in ! When I think of him and her, and 
 the talking and laughing that went on — and in 
 the evening her flattering up the poor fellow, and 
 making him sing when a mouse could have 
 chirped better — I do protest, Jonathan, that sing- 
 ing of his was almost more than flesh and blood 
 could bear, though I did my best to tap on the 
 table for Mary's sake, " 
 
 " It was terrible ; " owned he, candidly. 
 
 *' But we both thought it was all arranged, 
 didn't we now?" 
 
 " It looked like it. But " 
 
 " Let me finish, Jonathan. And I'll not say 
 another word against Mary ever after. Just tell
 
 250 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 me if you don't in your heart tlnnk that — 
 that " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " That poor dear Mary has, for once in her 
 hfe, behaved foohshly ? " 
 
 It was such a very mild not to say inadequate 
 sentence, to be dehvered so oracularly from the 
 judgment throne, that old Jo laughed long and 
 loud, and the situation v^as at an end. 
 
 And Mary ; of what was she thinking, and how 
 was she feeling who seemed to make so little 
 account of the thoughts and feelings of others ? 
 
 As long as she was within sight or sound of the 
 three pairs of eyes and ears on the watch, it must 
 be admitted that our young lady played the game 
 to admiration. Into their midst she strode with 
 a free and easy step just as the above dialogue 
 came to a close, and Sophy entered by another 
 door ; and her : 
 
 "Well uncle, landed your cargo? And how 
 did he go off? " was delivered with a sang f void 
 that almost made her aunt blush for her. 
 
 Even her uncle replied briefly. 
 
 " Well, Sophy, how did you get on ? " demanded 
 she, next. 
 
 A pparently Sophy had not ' got on ' at all.
 
 "DID HE SAY IT WAS IMPUDENT?" 251 
 
 " You look mighty lugubrious ; " quoth the prin- 
 cess, flashing round glances which had in them a 
 curious mingling of scorn and amusement, " but, 
 my dears, believe me there is nothing to be 
 lugubrious about. A little contretemps like this ! " 
 And she laughed ostentatiously. 
 
 Presently she was buried in a book. If no one 
 were disposed for conversation, she could be as 
 quiet as the rest. 
 
 When one and another had left the room how- 
 ever, away went the book — our student had not 
 read a v/ord — and up started a petulant figure 
 with a jerk ; a window was flung open, and the 
 night-air tore into the room, banging a door, 
 and making havoc of all light articles scattered 
 about. Halfway over the window-sill Mary tlirew 
 herself. 
 
 She wanted to think. But can one think when 
 the blood is in a ferment, and chaos reigns with- 
 in? When everything is strange, untried, un- 
 certain? It was by no means for the first time 
 that a sense of weary dissatisfaction with her 
 present mode of life had made itself felt within 
 this young girl's bosom, and again and again had 
 this resulted in impressions and resolutions, which 
 had been very real while they lasted.
 
 252 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 But they never lasted long ; perhaps it was 
 hardly to be expected that they should. 
 
 She had no one to whom they could be con- 
 fided, no one who would have understood or 
 sympathised ; while at the same time the strength 
 of character which might have enabled another 
 so situated to stand alone was v/anting. 
 
 Gradually she had come to perceive this, and 
 in downcast moments, to feel it. 
 
 Why was she so weak, so plastic, so terribly 
 impulsive? Those who took her in hand could 
 do just as they liked with her. She could not 
 wear a ribbon or a flower, if any one abused it. 
 
 And though her mother and uncle thought she 
 led the girls of her set, she laughed secretly and 
 sometimes bitterly at the idea. She lead? She 
 could not lead a fly. 
 
 To domineer over adoring parents and guardians 
 requires nothing but self-will, and of that my 
 heroine had abundance — but she was not so blind 
 to take herself at their valuation. 
 
 Indeed it annoyed her, when in a mood to be 
 annoyed, that her opinions and decisions should 
 be so much esteemed. She felt defrauded by 
 the very simplicity of her worshippers ; by their 
 faith in her.
 
 "DID HE SAY IT WAS IMPUDENT?" 253 
 
 But for this, she might never have been con- 
 tent with the low level on which she mentally 
 placed herself ; and beneath the stimulus of 
 criticism and rebuke might have fought her way- 
 upward. 
 
 Who had ever held a noble ideal before her 
 eyes ? Who had insisted on a worthier standard? 
 Who had shown the ingredients of life in their 
 proper proportions ? 
 
 Often she felt as though she did not know right 
 from wrong. A struggling sense of duty or of 
 honesty would find the moral atmosphere in 
 which it sought to grow, so adverse, that it 
 dwindled and disappeared, leaving only a vague 
 uneasiness behind. 
 
 Then she would mentally charge all but herself 
 with the blight. If she had been allowed to 
 follow her better impulse such and such a thing 
 would never have happened. If she lived any- 
 where but where she did, among any other people 
 than those who daily surrounded her, she would 
 be a different creature. 
 
 After some such ruminations, poor Lady Har- 
 borough would have a trying time of it. 
 
 Mary's mother was, without reservation, 
 honestly and whole-heartedly of the earth, earthy.
 
 25'i SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 She had no pangs, no quahiis. Her shallow 
 nature and untutored mind were content to 
 grovel, and anything but grovelling was incom- 
 prehensible. Consequently Mary's outbursts were 
 incomprehensible. 
 
 But directly Mary was happy again, all was 
 right ; and by-and-by Mary herself grew to 
 think that no good came of querulous dissatis- 
 faction, and idle suppositions, and to stamp these 
 down whenever she felt them rising within ; being 
 especially careful, moreover, that no one of her 
 acquaintance should know of or suspect their 
 existence. 
 
 She got along as others did, and supposed 
 herself no worse than they. That she should 
 occasionally wish to be better, was in its way a 
 misfortune. It all ended in a " Heigho ! " 
 
 Since coming to Losca, however, the "Heighos" 
 had been more frequent. Not that she met with 
 much to make them so in her immediate sur- 
 roundings ; neither the elder people themselves 
 nor Sophy, to whom she had at first turned with 
 a vague idea that an unfashionable country girl 
 and a clergyman's daughter to boot, must be 
 meritorious and would probably be religious — 
 none of them in any wise met the case ; but there
 
 " DID HE SAY IT WAS IMPUDENT ? " 25 
 
 was another who did. She thought daily, hourly, 
 increasingly of Sir Patrick : The Puddock. 
 
 " You are always asking people about that 
 little man ; " said Sophy, once. 
 
 " So I am. I like to ask." 
 
 "I can't think what you find interesting in 
 him." 
 
 "Can't you?" 
 
 " I should have thought," persisted Sophy, 
 "that you, knowing all the people j'ou do, 
 wouldn't have cared to — but there you sat and sat 
 in that poky hole " — the two had just emerged 
 from a crofter's hut, — " and let that old woman 
 go rambling on ; and it was nothing but ' Sir 
 Patrick ' — * Sir Patrick ' all the time ! I thought 
 she would never have done." 
 
 " I did not want her to have done. I liked to 
 listen." 
 
 " They will say, — do you know what they will 
 .say ? They are tremendous gossips about here. 
 Uncle Jo heard something about you and Sir 
 Patrick the other day." 
 
 " Uncle Jo is always hearing things." 
 
 " Oh, you don't mind ? " said Sophy surprised. 
 " I thought I would just tell you. Uncle Jo was 
 quite put out about it ; and I came in when he
 
 256 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 was telling aunt Lou, so he told me ; but he said 
 I was to hold my tongue " 
 
 "Which you are doing," sarcastically. 
 
 "Well, I never promised. And of course he 
 doesn't know about your going to the cottagers, 
 and letting them talk to you ; if he knew that, he 
 might not have thought it so impudent." 
 
 "Did he say it was impudent?" The colour 
 rose in Mary Harborough's cheek. " You are 
 sure he said 'Impudent'?" She pressed closer 
 to her companion's side. "Impudent!" Sophy 
 heard her mutter to herself. 
 
 " Why, of course," said she, and a slight, 
 irrepressible sneer accompanied the words. " Sir 
 Patrick is not good enough for you, whatever he 
 may be for other people." 
 
 " Yourself, for instance. But I told you at the 
 first you need not trouble your head with that 
 idea. You seemed relieved ; " smiling to herself. 
 
 " So I was. I didn't want him. Nasty little 
 ugly fellow ■" 
 
 But the speaker broke off in a shock of amaze- 
 ment. Mary, whose hand was within her arm, 
 pulled it out with such a sudden vehemence as to 
 almost thrust her away. At the same moment an 
 inarticulate ejaculation burst from her lips.
 
 "DID HE SAY IT WAS IMPUDENT?" 257 
 
 She grew to dislike, as well as to despise Sophy. 
 It was clear that Sophy was both jealous and 
 mean, capable of wishing still to have the credit 
 of an admirer whom she secretly flouted, and 
 spitefully desirous of cheapening him in the eyes 
 of those who regarded him more favourably. 
 
 " She shall never have a chance of speaking 
 like that again." With compressed lips, Sir 
 Patrick's champion vowed the above, and only 
 hoped she would not forget the vow. 
 
 Then came the Dashleigh episode, and all that 
 had been slowly simmering before, on a sudden 
 boiled. 
 
 Lord Eobert's handsome, shallow face, incapable 
 of ever being stirred by a noble emotion, scarcely 
 even by a serious thought, was so much wood in 
 Mary Harborough's eyes. 
 
 She wondered how she ever found it attractive, 
 or himself charming and fascinating. A foolish, 
 worthless creature. 
 
 And she? Was she not just such another 
 foolish, worthless creature. Ah, but she knew it, 
 and therein lay the difference- 
 She knew it and clung to her knowledge. 
 
 It seemed the one thing clear to her in the 
 struggle which now raged within. 
 
 18
 
 CHAPTEK XI 
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 
 
 UNCLE JONATHAN, I'm going to marry 
 The Puddock." 
 
 Jonathan who had been slowly descending into 
 a big arm-chair, shot upright again as though 
 fired by electricity. 
 
 It is not the altogether unexpected which thus 
 affects us ; it is the oft-debated possibility which 
 has been thrust aside again and again, but has 
 ever recurred with quiet persistency and increas- 
 ing frequency — the vague uneasiness w^hich may 
 be scotched but will not be killed — the creeping 
 dread that must not be spoken about — the folly 
 at which we laugh, if suggested by others. Jona- 
 than Mercer felt as if he had been expecting this 
 moment for years. 
 
 " I am ; " said the girl, defiantly. 
 
 258
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 259 
 
 The old man sat down and passed his hand 
 before his eyes. A curious sensation made his 
 veins tingle. And it was not Mary Harborough, 
 his beautiful and idohsed Mary who stood before 
 him, but a hard-featured Lancashire woman, who 
 from earliest years had taken the bit between her 
 teeth, and looked the world in the face with that 
 same defiant gesture, and resolute, unflinching 
 eye. 
 
 So the old strain was too strong to be altogether 
 eliminated, was it ? He felt a kind of pride in the 
 old strain. 
 
 'Uncle Jonathan' too? Yes. His mother 
 would have said ' Uncle Jonathan ' just like 
 that. 
 
 And she had married the man she chose to 
 marry, despite remonstrances and prognosti- 
 cations. 
 
 No one had presumed to go further with Moll, 
 the bold, independent lass, who earned her own 
 living and was beholden to nobody. 
 
 Moll's parents were both alive, but neither they 
 nor she dreamed of such matters as parental 
 authority and filial obedience, — which were well 
 enough for gentlefolks, but had no meaning for 
 the rough and ready workers of a factory town.
 
 260 SIK PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Moll's freedom, albeit she was only sixteen years 
 of age, was absolute. 
 
 The marriage had turned out badly ; one had 
 almost said, * of course.' 
 
 Jonathan could remember no father ; he had 
 absconded, disgusted with family life, and its ever 
 recurring births and deaths ; but the vision of his 
 young-old mother, worn out, harsh-voiced, and 
 more grimly determined than ever when left 
 alone to ' fend ' for her offspring, was clear and 
 distinct after a lapse of fifty years, and started 
 into being anew before his eyes. 
 
 He had been wont to experience a secret com- 
 placency when reflecting on the apparent softness 
 of nature which had descended to his niece 
 through a parent who seemed to have none of 
 the old virility of blood. 
 
 All his other brothers and sisters had dropped 
 into early graves, and he had bestowed on the 
 solitary survivor all the affection of which as a lad 
 he was capable. 
 
 Her submissiveness and adaptability suited him ; 
 her marriage pleased him ; the birth of her little 
 girl ri vetted her hold upon him. 
 
 He had none of his own, and Mary became all 
 in all of her generation.
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 261 
 
 There was but a minute of silence, yet Jonathan 
 Mercer saw all this ere he raised his head, and 
 pulled himself together for the coming struggle. 
 
 He would have need of all his wits, all his 
 diplomacy, all his self-control. His voice was as 
 gentle as a child's. 
 
 " I — what did you say, my dear ? You — you 
 startled me, Mary." 
 
 "Bless you, dear uncle," — a laugh that was a 
 little forced, " I thought I spoke pretty plainly," 
 continued Mary, sitting down on the edge of his 
 chair, and swinging her foot with assumed non- 
 chalance. " What I said was, 'I'm going to marry 
 The Puddock.' The Puddock, you understand? 
 Otherwise Sir Patrick Kinellan of that Ilk ; tenth 
 baronet ; succeeded his father in 18 — ." 
 
 " You need not go on, my dear." 
 
 " You need not speak to me like that, my dear. 
 I'm going to marry, not to murder Sir Pat." 
 
 " I am a little taken by sm'prise, Mary." 
 
 "That's it, is it. Poor old uncle." She was 
 touched, and stroked his grey hair affectionately. 
 " I can understand that. I am a little, not to say 
 a good deal taken by surprise myself. Of all 
 people in the world," waxing garrulous and com- 
 municative now the ice was broken, " I should
 
 262 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 have least expected to have for a husband that 
 dear, good, honest, little ' Pixddock.' " 
 
 "You intend to go on calling him that?" 
 Jonathan looked at her curiousl5^ 
 
 "Yes, indeed. Why not?" laughed she. "I 
 rather like the name ; it suits him. Besides," 
 she paused, — " you see, uncle, the very fact of 
 my saying it draws the teeth of other people who 
 say it behind Ids back, and would like to say it 
 to my face. If I had solemnly called him ' Sir 
 Patrick ' to you just now, you would not have 
 believed I was in earnest." 
 
 He protested. 
 
 " You would have thought to yourself ' She does 
 not know what she is doing ; she thinks of him 
 as a fine Highland chief ; a splendid, romantic 
 figure in a kilt, with a background of crag and 
 heather. But when I say I have made up my 
 mind to take ' The Puddock ' for better for 
 worse, you understand directly that there is no 
 illusion." 
 
 " He is a very good fellow, certainly." 
 
 " He's a dear. We shall get on capitally." 
 
 "But " said her uncle, w^ith a rueful 
 
 look. 
 
 " But ? Of course there's a ' but ' " cried she,
 
 A BOLT FRO^l THE BLUR 263 
 
 gaily. "What's a life without a 'but"? Fire 
 away, uncle Jo. I'm all prepared for ' buts ' ; 
 armed to the teeth against them." 
 
 " What will your mother say ? " 
 
 " Hoo ! " Tone and look conveyed worlds. 
 
 "Well, but Mary," he felt he must progress, 
 "this is all very fine; but you must know, you 
 must feel that we have a right — that this is hardly 
 what we had a claim to expect for you in the way 
 of matrimony." 
 
 " Then you had no business to get me down 
 here ;" promptly. 
 
 Jonathan stared at her. Had Sir Patrick been 
 an all-conquering Adonis, a Paladin of old, even 
 a modern hero crowned with laurels, the charge 
 might have held good, — but poor little Stumpy ! 
 
 Did the girl mean that she could not see a man 
 without falling in love with him ? And she had 
 the flower of English youth at her feet ! Scions 
 'of the noblest houses gaping after her ! 
 
 "If you had made up your mind there was to 
 be nothing between us, you certainly took an odd 
 way of preventing it." Perceiving he could find 
 no ready answer, the youug lady pursued her 
 advantage. " You painted little Pat's virtues in 
 bold relief, and gave me every chance of seeing if
 
 264 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 you had done them justice. Bobby was the finish- 
 ing touch." And she laughed again. 
 
 "Oh, his virtues are all right ; " said Jonathan, 
 testily. 
 
 " And if I don't object to his appearance, it has 
 nothing to do with any one else." 
 
 " Certainly appearances do not signify much — 
 although that Sophy creature — you'd hardly 
 beheve it" with sudden animation — "but she 
 turned up her nose at Sir Patrick! " 
 
 " She'll not do that again." Once more it was 
 Moll, the Lancashire factory girl, whose blue eyes 
 sparkled threateningly. 
 
 " I told the missus — your aunt," said Jonathan, 
 hastily, " that he was a deal too good for Sophy ; 
 but she was all for befriending the poor Gills. 
 She seemed to think the whole family was to 
 hitch on to Sir Patrick." 
 
 " So you sent for me to save him? " 
 
 He fidgeted in his chair. " I didn't want him 
 run in. I thought it too bad. But I only in- 
 tended '■ 
 
 " That he should be taken with me — not I with 
 him?" 
 
 " That's about it, Mary." For the life of him 
 he could not but be amused at her shrewdness.
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 265 
 
 " I thought it would do him no harm just to see 
 you, my girl. You can't help it if you are a bit 
 of a contrast. Your poor old uncle is a fool 
 about you, I daresay, but it seemed to him that 
 the sight of your bonnic face would quiet neigh- 
 bour Patrick down a bit, and prevent anything 
 else." 
 
 "But why should you suppose he would be 
 content with being quieted down ? You might 
 siurelj^ have been vain enough of me to " 
 
 " So she said, your aunt. And then of course 
 we both saw. But anyhow we never thought 
 that you — that there would have been anything 
 on your part." 
 
 " Well, there is ; " said Mary, growing somewhat 
 impatient of all this. "And I don't think you 
 have shown off so particularly well in the busi- 
 ness, my dear, for you to be entitled to much say 
 in it now. You wanted somebody very big for 
 me, and you have only got somebody rather 
 small, — but you'll play me fair with him, won't 
 you ?" A shght, a very slight tremor of anxiety 
 was audible in the last words. "For I don't 
 want to go to my Puddock empty - handed ; ' ' 
 thought she, practically. 
 
 Jonathan, however, reached out a rough, brown
 
 266 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 paw, and fixed his eyes earnestly on hers. " I'll 
 play you fair," he said, firmly clenching her hand 
 in his, "It's nowt of a marriage, nowt compared 
 with what it might ha' been — but maybe ye've 
 chosen better than if old Jo had chosen for ye. 
 That flibberti-gibbert " 
 
 " Oh, uncle," she was half laughing, half crjing, 
 as she kissed him ; " that flibberti-gibbert and you 
 wouldn't have hit it off at all. You don't know- 
 how sick you would have got of him. A.nd he 
 would have looked down on you, dear ; and on 
 aunt Lou ; and been ashamed of you. He would 
 have tried to prevent your ever meeting the people 
 of his world, or even coming into contact with his 
 own family. Think how horrid this would have 
 been for me; for us all." She thought for a 
 moment, and continued, '* They make a fuss 
 about my mother now, and almost toady her, 
 because they want this marriage ; but directly 
 it had taken place we should have seen a change. 
 She would never have been one of themselves ; I 
 doubt if I should." 
 
 "Good God! Mary!" 
 
 " It's true ; you see that every day. They take 
 the money, but they never forgive the plebeian 
 blood ; and if there are children — I know one
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 267 
 
 house, uncle Jo, where I have heard the children, 
 yes, indeed have, say things which meant they 
 looked upon their parents as inferiors. Punch 
 caricatured this. He made a child say to his 
 mother, 'Aren't you glad you married into our 
 family? ' Somebody showed me this, and I knew 
 what was meant. It was a hint for me." 
 
 "I could not have believed it, Mary." 
 
 " I did not tell you as long as I thought I might 
 have to do it, uncle." 
 
 Jonathan ruminated, " Might have to make 
 that kind of a match, you mean ? " 
 
 She nodded assent. 
 
 He was silent again. "You would be quite 
 happy with The Puddock ? " interrogated he, softly. 
 
 " We should get on first-rate ; we are the best 
 of friends already." 
 
 " Aye, aye." 
 
 " And no horrid sneering family ! " 
 
 " Only Madam What's-her-name. Nigel's wife." 
 
 " Oh, her ! My dear, if I couldn't reduce her 
 to order ! And he — I mean Sir Pat, but it might 
 stand for Nigel — hates her already." 
 
 " And you'd be richer than she, Mary. Of 
 course I should make a handsome settlement 
 upon you."
 
 268 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 "Hey, what's here?" said Mrs. Mercer open- 
 ing the door in the midst of the embrace which 
 followed. "What's all this about, you two?" 
 good-humouredly . 
 
 " Only a httle business talk we were having ; " 
 said Jonathan, his eyes interrogating, " Am I to 
 tell her or not?" 
 
 " Which is not quite finished ; " appended Mary, 
 hers intimating a negative. " You shall hear about 
 it presently, aunt ; but if you don't mind, I just 
 wanted my uncle to know something about me ; 
 because he's my sort of father " 
 
 "And he's got to know it;" said Jonathan. 
 " Go away, wife ; " he nodded not unkindly. 
 
 She withdrew, wondering. 
 
 " It's settled then, I suppose? " — the old man 
 rubbed his chin, and looked thoughtfully in front 
 of him, — " and he may speak as soon as he likes. 
 But, Mary," hesitating. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I don't know that you won't have to — has 
 Sir Patrick ever said anything?" demanded he, 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Not exactly, uncle." 
 
 " You are sure of him, however? " 
 
 She smiled.
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 269 
 
 " I daresay ; and I daresay I know why he has 
 not come forward. ' Miss Arthur,' the stray 
 lassie he met cHnging to a fine lady's skirts, and 
 with none of her own as one may say, was one 
 person — Mr. Jonathan Mercer's nearest relation 
 and heiress is another. ' Little Stmnpy ' as I 
 call him, ' The Puddock ' as you call him, is an 
 honourable gentleman. I fancy he feels there is a 
 barrier. It is not every one who would feel this, 
 but I'll take my oath Stumpy does." 
 
 " Oh, I don't think so ;" said she, indifferently. 
 
 " Why does he not speak, then? " 
 
 She twiddled her fingers. 
 
 " Do you tell me he's in love with you, miss ? " 
 A rising sharpness in his accents. 
 
 " Yes, I do ; " she met it boldly. 
 
 "And you don't think it's your fortune and 
 position that keeps him back ? ' ' 
 
 " Not altogether." 
 
 "Then what the devil is it?" cried Jonathan, 
 losing patience. " There's something you're 
 keeping back from me. I have been open with 
 you, and the least I can look for is that you 
 should be open with me. What is it, I ask?" 
 And he thumped his hand upon his knee. 
 
 ** Uncle, I am keeping nothing back. I came
 
 270 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 to you directly I knew myself how I felt and 
 what I meant to do. I told you everything " 
 
 " Why, so I thought, Mary; " more placably. 
 
 " But I can't answer for another ; and some- 
 times I must own Sir Patrick— he — he — I don't 
 know what to think about him." She paused. 
 " Before Lord Eobert came, I read him like 
 a book. He was — was very much — very deeply," 
 blushing, "in love with me: he scarcely could 
 trust himself to speak to me; and though he 
 feared to come, he could not keep away from 
 the house." 
 
 "Aye, aye;" Jonathan winked approval. 
 "That's the real thing, the genuine article;" 
 quoth he, with a smack of the lips. " Felt 
 that way myself once. Forty years ago, Mary." 
 
 "Do you remember that evening when we 
 were singing in the twilight?" 
 
 " When you were singing — and the devil was 
 in you that you wouldn't stop. Poor Little 
 Stumpy — Sir Patrick, I mean — did not know 
 whether he stood on his head or his heels at 
 last." 
 
 "Yet he has never asked me to sing again;" 
 said she, in a low voice. "And uncle, he keeps 
 out of my way now ; I am sure he does. The
 
 A BOLT FKOM THE BLUE 271 
 
 other day I saw him on the road far ahead. 
 You know how lonely that road is ? If you see 
 any one, that one must see you — and he did see 
 me. He could not help it. But he simply 
 disappeared. I don't know where he went, 
 because there was a little hillock between us, 
 but he had gone when I reached the place." 
 
 " Then, another day," she went on, with 
 rising spirit, " he was down at the pier — our 
 pier. I thought I might as well go down too — 
 I didn't see why I should not — and he saw me 
 coming, and got into one of the keeper's carts 
 and drove off. Just took off his cap and drove 
 past." 
 
 "Very rude of him." 
 
 " Oh, not at all rude. He was so quick over 
 it that if I had not known in my heart what 
 he was about, I should have supposed — any one 
 would have supposed he never saw me till after 
 he had started." 
 
 "What was it all for?" 
 
 "That's what I mean to discover. But I 
 could not set about it without telling you. 
 Because you see, he's not a man to play with, 
 is he ? And of course I've had so many of 
 them," proceeded the heiress, simply, " that I
 
 272 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 know exactly what they are worth. It was 
 nothing but a try on with some. They thought 
 they might as well have a try for me as not. 
 One little impertinent boy in the Foreign Office 
 began telling me what expectations he had, as 
 if I cared about his wretched little expectations ! 
 There is never any pretence, uncle, I assure you. 
 There is no time for that. They simply go for 
 me the moment they are introduced, — and they 
 are tumbling over each other in their hurry to 
 be introduced." 
 
 He laughed, not ill-pleased. 
 
 "Perhaps I should miss it if they didn't;" 
 continued she, thoughtfully. " I don't know 
 what it would feel like to go into a room and 
 not be rushed at. Uncle, how do they all 
 know?" with a new thought. 
 
 " Instinct," said he, succinctly. But with him 
 ' Instinct ' spelt ' Lady Harborough.' 
 
 "It's just as well, d'ye see?" continued the 
 millionaire after a pause. " We don't want any 
 of the common herd ; and we mean you should 
 have the pick, your mother and I." 
 
 "So you ?" 
 
 "Oh, it got about." 
 
 " But he, Sir Patrick," said Mary, with
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 273 
 
 kindling eyes, " that's the best of it, uncle, he 
 to be the one man who knew nothing, and yet 
 — still, I thnik if even he had rushed it, he 
 might," she stopped to think "he might have 
 gone the way of all flesh ; " she laughed a little. 
 "But he has left me alone, and now he is to 
 have his reward. Don't you think he deserves 
 a reward ? ' ' 
 
 " I'm content, Mary." 
 The two shook hands. 
 
 " I have a letter from your mother, my dear," 
 said Mrs. Mercer, later on the same day. " She 
 wants you back, she says." 
 
 " She can't have me, aunt." Mary, who had 
 also a letter in her hand, folded it decisively, and 
 put it back into the envelope. 
 
 " It's some ball she wants you for ; " hinted the 
 older lady, smiling. " She seems to think you 
 
 agreed before you came " 
 
 ■ "The stupid Milborough Ball. I thought it 
 was over; I had forgotten all about it." 
 
 ("Forgotten about a ball!" thought Sophy 
 Gill, "Oh!") 
 
 " Mary gets enough of balls and such trash ; " 
 said Jonathan, coming to the rescue. " Wliat's 
 a ball to her?" — his glance conveying intimate 
 19
 
 274 SIE PATEICK: THE PUDPOCK 
 
 acquaintance with poor Sophy's thoughts. "You 
 must just write and say we can't spare her; " he 
 added, to his wife. 
 
 " I'm sure if she's willing to stay," — but Mrs. 
 Mercer looked surprised. 
 
 " That's the queer thing, she's not only willing, 
 but means to do it ; " chuckled her spokesman. 
 " Means to give up all the grand company and 
 the goings on, and potter on here in this dull 
 house — but wait a bit, what about the return 
 ticket?" Suddenly he bethought himself of a 
 forgotten obstacle. " You took one?" to his niece. 
 
 "Dear me, so I did. Tiresome. Well, w^hat's 
 to be done? " She looked from one to the other. 
 
 " It won't do to waste it," said Jonathan, with 
 a rich man's frugality, " and I daresay you never 
 thought of taking one for longer than a month ? " 
 
 "No, indeed; I only meant to stay three 
 weeks." 
 
 " It's up then — let me see — when? " 
 
 " The day after to-morrow." 
 
 "Hum ! " said Jonathan. 
 
 As they were leaving the dinner table, he called 
 his wife back. "Let the other girl have that 
 ticket. She's not wanted here; and to make up, 
 we can have her at the Hall for Christmas, eh ?
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 275 
 
 I fancy she'll be glad enough to go. She and 
 Mary don't seem very chummy, and we'll be best 
 by ourselves," significantly, "just now." 
 
 " What is it about Mary, Jonathan? " 
 
 " I'll tell you when Sophy's gone, old lady." 
 
 Truth to tell, Sophy was ready enough to go. 
 Luxury had begun to pall, and life in the little 
 racketty, lively, hugger-mugger home, was felt to 
 have attractions never experienced before. 
 
 There at least, the eldest daughter of the house 
 was somebody, and would be doubly somebody 
 after her stay at Losca Castle. 
 
 She foresaw herself the retailer of endless 
 narrations, the authority on endless debatable 
 points. 
 
 Visitors would come to see her. She would 
 scan them and their clothes, as Mrs. Kinellan 
 had scanned the Mercer party. 
 
 She would walk about in her new coat and 
 skirt. She would walk with a stick, " as she did 
 in the Highlands." She would wear a bunch of 
 heather in her button hole. 
 
 Her own particular friend should hear all about 
 Mary Harborough, and how swagger and smart 
 she was, — also, in direst privacy, how odious and 
 conceited.
 
 276 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 When imagination flew to Sir Patrick, however, 
 he was found to be a more complicated subject. 
 Suppose he should end by marrying Miss Har- 
 borough, it might be awkward to have claimed 
 him as a rejected admirer. No one in that event 
 would admit the claim ; not even her faithful 
 Florrie May. She must hold The Puddock 
 over. 
 
 Enough was left, nevertheless, to make a brave 
 show ; and it only needed a kind assurance from 
 a somewhat compunctious hostess respecting 
 Christmas festivities, to send the young traveller 
 off in good case, waving her hand to the last. 
 
 "And now we are free for our campaign;" 
 whispered a gleeful voice in uncle Jo's ear. 
 
 During the two intervening days, stagna- 
 tion had prevailed, prudence suggesting such 
 a course ; and nothing had been heard or seen 
 of their neighbour over the way. But now ? 
 " Suppose we drive round by Kinellan this 
 afternoon," suggested our bold young lady. 
 
 " And ask him to dinner ? " said Jonathan. 
 
 "We might. What do you think? But that 
 would mean our going to the house? " 
 
 " Not a bit ; we may meet him." 
 
 "If we do, we can invite him; if not" — a
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 277 
 
 pause. *' No, I think we can hardly go to the 
 house ; " said Mary. 
 
 She made herself look very smart and pretty 
 however, with a soft, grey hat and a rose-coloured 
 tie — thinking as she tucked the latter in that the 
 Kinellan tartan, albeit in itself not particularly 
 to her taste, would be becoming enough in a 
 small pattern. Sir Patrick wore too large a 
 pattern — for a lady at all events. He had said, 
 however, that tartans could be woven to order, 
 and had named a firm he employed. " I would 
 wear it in all sorts of ways;" considered our 
 English girl, who could not prospectively be 
 Highland enough. " I don't see why I should 
 not have a tartan made on purpose for me;" 
 further ruminated she. 
 
 "Attired for conquest? " — whispered uncle Jona- 
 than, as she came down. He thought he had 
 never seen anything so transcendent, and there 
 was something almost pathetic in the pride and 
 triumph in his eyes. 
 
 To think that this superb creature was actually 
 
 going to take for a prince-consort on her throne, 
 
 a homely, worthy nobody ! That she should 
 
 allow her regal orbs to regard such an one with 
 
 avour, and reach out her sceptred hand !
 
 278 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Well, well ! 
 
 At any rate, she would be * My lady,' and if 
 she chose, might pile up such a mass of masonry 
 on and round Kinellan house, that the present 
 structure would be a mere kernel in its shell. 
 
 He supposed they would not care for a new 
 Kinellan ? 
 
 A hint of the kind had once caused Little 
 Stumpy's eyes to dart fire, and even Mary had 
 waxed enthusiastic over the walls which had with- 
 stood the blasts of centuries. He told himself 
 that he would not interfere. 
 
 He would interfere with nothing. His niece's 
 plain-speaking as to the position he would in all 
 probability have held in Lord Eobert Dashleigh's 
 family — or in any other family in like sort 
 entered by her — had cut him to the quick, 
 and he had thought over it waking and sleeping 
 ever since. Lord ! What an escape he had 
 had! 
 
 And what a sensible girl Mary was. She had 
 looked well round before deciding, and had 
 argued the case in all its bearings. There never 
 was such a girl. " Up Jenkyns," cried he, as she 
 sprang to his side. He was in such spirits he did 
 not know what to do with himself.
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 279 
 
 But the expedition was a failure iu so far as 
 any immediate effect was concerned. 
 
 The mail phaeton with its handsome pair of 
 cobs scoured the road round Kinellan Bay from 
 point to point; crawled to let its occupants admire 
 the view at divers points ; and finally on its 
 return journey stopped point blank in front of 
 the lodge gates, which had never been entirely 
 out of sight. 
 
 ''Couldn't ye — ah — make an excuse?" hinted 
 the driver, flicking his whip. 
 
 "Oh, I'll get down and see old Katie;" and 
 Mary was down in a moment. " We want some 
 eggs, or something;" laughed she up, and dis- 
 appeared into the cottage. 
 
 She came out again, walking rather slowly, the 
 old woman hobbling after her. 
 
 As soon as she had re-ascended to her seat, and 
 they were again on the move, " Sir Patrick is in 
 ■ that boat," murmured she, eyeing a small smack, 
 which lay idly on the water, the day being fine 
 and still ; "he went there an hour ago — just 
 when we must have passed." 
 
 " Can he have seen us? " 
 
 " He can hardly have helped seeing us." 
 
 " Poor fellow ; " said Jonathan, heartily. The
 
 280 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 following day he called himself on the bashful 
 lover. 
 
 Sir Patrick was caught, and was all that was 
 pleasant, easy, and friendly. Unfortunately he 
 had business which took him to the mainland 
 that week. He would do himself the honour of 
 calling on the ladies as soon as he returned. The 
 day of his return was uncertain. 
 
 "He's still jockeying us;" quoth Jonathan, 
 with a chuckle. 
 
 There were no more drives to the other side of 
 the island, but Miss Harborough now found 
 abundance to amuse her along their own shore, 
 and especially at such times as the daily steam- 
 boat from the south came in. 
 
 She was always bright and talkative on re- 
 entering, and had plenty to say about her call at 
 the post-office and the shop, or her most amusing 
 waits upon the pier. 
 
 "It is such fun to see the boat come in ; " said 
 she. But one day while she was down seeing the 
 fun, Sir Patrick was calling at the castle. 
 
 And no one was at home and he was sent away. 
 The young lady's face was a sight to see, when 
 told this. 
 
 How had he eluded her ? How and when had
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE 281 
 
 he come back? There was no boat in the 
 night. 
 
 Sir Patrick had crossed at the Grass Point, by 
 a ferry-boat. 
 
 Not that he knew anything or suspected any- 
 thing : it was only chance encounters he was 
 guarding against. And every day he hoped to 
 hear that Mr. Mercer's niece had left the island.
 
 CHAPTEE XII 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 WHY did she not go '? 
 Why did they all not go ? The West Coast 
 of Scotland was no longer the place for such as 
 they ; especially now that the calm, blue, frosty 
 days of October were past, and wild weather had 
 set in. 
 
 Every afternoon closed with an angry, threat- 
 ening sunset, which lit up the whole sky with its 
 flare. 
 
 Then a night of wind would follow, and the 
 morning show strewn branches, tossed up shingle, 
 scattered peat-stacks, — while the boats drawn up 
 for safety out of the tide's reach had a forlorn, 
 uncanny air, intimating rough play in the weird 
 hours of darkness. 
 
 Once a terrific storm shook the coasts. It was 
 unexpected, having been preceded by a lull, and 
 
 282
 
 CONCLUSION 283 
 
 there was anxiety and foreboding in many a 
 home. 
 
 The boats kept retm'ning — some of them 
 bottom uppermost. 
 
 Sir Patrick scarcely left the shore, lending his 
 strong arm wherever it was wanted, affording the 
 consolation of his presence when nothing else 
 could be done. 
 
 AVhilst the storm prevailed he did not think so 
 much of Mary. That is to say, he could manage 
 to keep off conscious, consecutive thoughts of 
 Mar}^ She was always there ; he heard her voice 
 through the wild music of the wind and sea, saw 
 her image in the fitful sunlight — but he did not 
 muse and ponder over her. 
 
 He had made up his mind, his steady, resolute 
 mind ; and active occupation, and much thinking 
 for others helped him. In time he hoped that all 
 would be well. 
 
 ' But whilst she still lingered in the immediate 
 vicinity, it was a harder matter to be firm than it 
 would be once the entire episode were at an end. 
 
 He could not always shut his ears, and Miss 
 Harborough's name was for ever coming up 
 unexpectedly. His simple people fancied that it 
 pleased him to hear of the young EngHsh lady's
 
 284 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 beauty and goodness. She had been over to 
 see one and another, bearing a full purse, and 
 bestowing her uncle's donations with much kind- 
 liness and good will. Had Sir Patrick not met 
 the bonnie creature? More than once she had 
 just gone, when he arrived upon the scene. 
 
 Sir Patrick heard in silence. 
 
 His present exertions and the necessity for 
 confining their sphere to his own part of the 
 island where distress was the greatest, served as 
 an excuse for any seeming neglect of neighbour- 
 liness ; and though, had he chosen, he could have 
 associated various acts of benevolence with the 
 same on Mr. Mercer's part, there was no positive 
 obligation to do so. 
 
 "We'll run him to earth yet, however;" 
 thought Jonathan. 
 
 He began to grow impatient of the dead-lock. 
 No one might be aware of it beyond himself and 
 his niece, but he felt it to be exasperating all the 
 same. He was not used to being thwarted ; and 
 though at first disposed to find the situation 
 exciting and stimulating from its very novelty, 
 as time passed he began to take counsel with 
 himself. 
 
 Mary had been very frank with him, and so far
 
 CONCLUSION 285 
 
 he had returned the frankness; nevertheless, 
 there were hmits beyond which no girl could go, 
 yet which did not bind an old man, a near rela- 
 tion, an arbiter of fate. 
 
 It ended in this ; by hook or by crook, he would 
 see the elusive and impassive Sir Patrick, and 
 force his hand. 
 
 Fortune favoured him ; the two met point- 
 blank that very afternoon. 
 
 " How d'ye do, how d'ye do? " cried Jonathan, 
 cordially. "Glad to see you at last;" planting 
 himself firmly in the other's path. "I thought 
 we had lost sight of each other altogether. You 
 never come our way now." He had thought 
 over this opening sentence a score of times. 
 
 " Oh, I know you have been well occupied over 
 here ;" continued the old gentleman, in answer to 
 a muttered explanation, " we all know that. The 
 whole country-side rings with your praises. But 
 ■ — let me walk back with you," linking his hand 
 in Sir Patrick's arm ; " since you won't come to us, 
 let me come to you. To tell the truth, I was on 
 my way to hunt you out;" proceeded he, con- 
 fidentially. " Sir Patrick, I'm a plain man, and 
 I don't understand any but plain dealings, ^^'ill 
 you excuse a straight-forward question ? Have I
 
 286 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 or mine, offended you'?" A pause. "That is 
 the upshot of this call," continued Mr. Mercer, 
 very well pleased to have got so far, and to see 
 that no way of escape was possible for his pri- 
 soner. " There are three of us over there — only 
 three now, my wife, my niece, and myself — and 
 we are «7r '^emphatically — "your very good 
 friends. But of late you have hardly seemed to 
 care to be friends with us. Of course if I am 
 wrong, you have only to tell me so ; " hastily. 
 
 "You are certainly — wrong," — but there was a 
 hesitation before the last word which left it 
 doubtful whether another might not have been 
 with more truth substituted. 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it — glad to hear it;" re- 
 sponded Jonathan effusively. " One can't always 
 tell, you know. And Mary — young ladies are 
 sensitive creatures," 
 
 "Did— did she ?" 
 
 " Oh, aye, she did. Yes, I assure you she did. 
 She has quite worried herself over it ; though of 
 course I ought not to let that out. I should 
 catch it hot if she knew. She's a poor fatherless 
 girl, Sir Patrick " — (I'll try him with sentiment,) — 
 " and has no one to go to when she's in trouble : " 
 — (He'll say her mother, but that's nonsense.
 
 CONCLUSION 287 
 
 Besides, she can't get at her mother here)—" so 
 as I stand m loco parentis — Mary's all the same 
 as my own to me ;— I— I— confound it all, Sir 
 Patrick, you must see, you must know, what I'm 
 driving at. Is there any quarrel between you 
 and my niece? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Do you feel the same towards her as you did 
 — say a month ago ? " 
 
 The muscles of Sir Patrick's face grew set and 
 rigid. 
 
 " No; " he said again. Then suddenly with a 
 deep gasp for breath, the sweat standing on his 
 brow, "My God, no ! " 
 
 By common consent the two had slipped 
 asunder, and now stood apart, each breathing 
 fast, on the verge as they alike realised, of a 
 precipice. Sir Patrick's fingers clutched and 
 unclutched the dirk by his side. 
 • "You ask me if I feel as I once did?" exclaimed 
 he hoarsely. " You ask me that ? Oh, if I did — if 
 I could ! That was nothing — comparatively ; I 
 admired Miss Harborough, she seemed to me all 
 that was lovely and lovable, — but I was content 
 humbly to pay my homage where all bowed 
 down, "
 
 288 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 "Why 'content,' man? Why 'content'? 
 Miss Harborough is but a woman after all." 
 ("Golly! he's all right," cried Jonathan, inwardly 
 transported,) " You are too modest, my good sir. 
 A bold wooer " 
 
 " But I am no wooer." 
 
 " You would only like to be one? " — slily. 
 
 A spasm passed over Sir Patrick's brow. He 
 raised his hand and pressed it, dumb. 
 
 " Well ? " said Jonathan, patiently. 
 
 " Mr. Mercer, you have been so plain with me 
 that I — that nothing remains for me than to be 
 equally so with you." 
 
 " Quite right ; quite right." 
 
 " I love your niece ; I have never loved any 
 other woman ; but — I will not ask her to be my 
 wife." 
 
 Jonathan started. 
 
 " I will not take advantage of her impulsive 
 youth, her amiability, her ignorance of life. She 
 has shown me, innocently and in all unconscious- 
 ness, what she expects of this world, what she 
 cares for in it, and what she means to make 
 of it. Just for a moment, a passing moment, 
 she has imagined that a poor, rough, homely 
 fellow like me — I can scarcely say it, it
 
 CONCLUSION 289 
 
 seems so strangely presumptuous — could make 
 her happy." He stopped short, and turned his 
 head aside. Then shook it slowly. . . . "It 
 is a . mere illusion." Another pause. ... "I 
 bless her for it, — but I will not be blinded by 
 it. . . . She is dreaming, and were I to fulfil 
 her dream, she would wake presently as from 
 a night-mare. . . . We are two different creatures. 
 Were I to strive day and night to make her 
 happy, I could not do so. . . . You, sir, you must 
 knoiv I am speaking the truth. What have we 
 in. common? Not a thought or purpose, " 
 
 " That would come. Husbands and wives 
 grow together." 
 
 "Do they?" Sir Patrick's lips compressed. 
 " No," he said, slowly and bitterly ; " I know 
 the end of such marriages." 
 
 "You are thinking of your brother? I grant 
 you his is not a case in point. But you would 
 not compare Mrs. Kinellan — excuse my saying 
 it — to my niece? " 
 
 " God forbid I should. My poor brother — but 
 we need not revert to him. Mr. Mercer, I had a 
 friend, a dear friend, who wrote to me not long 
 ago of his engagement in a strain of rapture. He 
 is a serious-minded man like myself, and I was 
 20
 
 290 SIK PATEICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 surprised to find that he had been accepted by a 
 lady who was a leader of the fashionable world. 
 She had taken him for a whim ; and when the 
 whim passed, she cast him off ; fortunately before 
 the knot was tied. She had mistaken her feelings, 
 she said. That was all ; there was nothing more 
 to be said." 
 
 Again he looked into the distance, blindly. 
 
 "You cannot think — you cannot mean," said 
 Jonathan struggling with a sense of affront, 
 " that Mary — my niece. Miss Harborough," 
 correcting himself " would play any one such 
 a shabby trick? If she gave her word, she'd 
 stick to it — as I should," the sturdy Lancashire 
 blood warming as he spoke. 
 
 "But at what a cost," said Sir Patrick, sadly. 
 "Disappointment, discontent, repinings — there 
 is no safety in a man's home, once these fiends 
 creep in ; and they point the way to — ruin." 
 
 "Good heavens, sir ! You — you! — Upon my 
 word, sir ! Well, I have done what I could ; 
 humbled myself, and got kicked for my pains. 
 You might have said at the first you did not 
 care for the young lady " 
 
 "I worship the very ground she treads upon." 
 
 " Queer kind of worship ! " — but there was a
 
 CONCLUSION 291 
 
 relenting gleam. " However, is this your last 
 word?" 
 
 Sir Patrick bowed his head. 
 
 " Of course it goes no further? " shortly. 
 
 "You can trust me, sir." 
 
 " It is the strangest thing I ever ^knew ; " burst 
 forth Jonathan, irrepressibly, " and I'm not 
 above owning I can make neither head nor tail of 
 it. However, that's your look out. My niece 
 with nigh upon a million at her back " — (for the 
 life of him he could not resist this) — " need never 
 go a-begging. She has plenty to pick and choose 
 from, I can tell you; " snorting in wrathful dignity. 
 
 " I know it. You forget that I have seen " 
 
 " Oh, not him," said Jonathan, hastily. 
 
 " Perhaps not him, but such as he. He is of 
 her world. She loves her world and shines in it ; 
 while I " he paused, and his voice sank till the 
 conclusion of the sentence was almost inaudible 
 — " I am a follower of One who said * If any 
 man love the world, the love of the Father is 
 not in him.' " 
 
 " The truth is, you're not religious enough," 
 said uncle Jo, briefly. He had not meant to 
 reveal a syllable of what had passed between
 
 292 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 him and Sir Patrick, yet almost every syllable 
 had been wrung from him. 
 
 " You may go to the devil in your own vyay, 
 Stumpy thinks. He won't have you on his 
 conscience, at any rate. Once or twice I had 
 an idea there was something of this sort in the 
 wind, from the look on his face yon Sacrament 
 Sunday, do you remember ? It was before all 
 this was set agoing. You said to me — or I to 
 you — that he had a kind of holy look. And I'm 
 blessed if I didn't think it rather fine of him to 
 be sitting there among all his people, so solemn 
 and smart as if for a great occasion. I felt 
 almost ashamed when we all sneaked out of 
 the kirk before the Bread and Wine went round. 
 He laid that up in his mind against us, too, I 
 don't doubt ; we're not his sort, Mary ; you'd 
 need belong to the ' ower guid ' my lass, before 
 ye could mate with the godly Puddock." 
 
 " For shame! " cried she, with tears in her eyes. 
 
 " Anyhow he's dead set against you, and you 
 must look elsewhere for a husband." 
 
 " Must I, indeed '? " quoth she, to herself. 
 
 He was ten times more to her than he had ever 
 been before. 
 
 To think that he should be so stern, so stead-
 
 CONCLUSION 298 
 
 fast ! Loving- her as he did, and owned to doing, 
 was it not grand to have such power of renuncia- 
 tion, such contempt for self-torture ? 
 
 What were the words he had used ? 
 
 " I worship the verj^ ground she treads upon." 
 She had made her uncle repeat them twice. 
 
 And he had flushed and trembled as he spoke ? 
 " There was no mistaking that the poor fanatic 
 was in earnest," Jonathan had assured her ; 
 " mad he might be, but there was no humbug 
 in his madness." His voice shook at your very 
 name ; " said the old man ; " it seemed sometimes 
 as if he could hardly get it out. But he takes it 
 for granted that you are a w-eather-cock, a mere 
 flimsy fashion-plate." 
 
 " I am not- — I am not ; " cried she, passionately. 
 
 " You do talk like it, Mary." 
 
 " Because I know no other talk." 
 
 "All that slang, " 
 
 " I know% I hate it. It's vulgar — not what ijou 
 would call vulgar, because the smartest people — 
 it's at their houses you hear the most. But when 
 I'm away from our set, I do notice that it doesn't 
 sound right. Oh, it has been my own fault, my 
 own fault ; " sighed she, seeing no comfort was to 
 be got from him.
 
 294 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " One thing I must do Stumpy the justice to 
 say," bhirted out Jonathan, presently. " He 
 never gave your money-bags a thought." 
 
 " I told you so." 
 
 ''Well, but I had my own ideas; stop a bit, 
 you don't understand. I had it in my head that 
 they held him back — not that they drew him on. 
 If I had not thought that I should never have 
 gone the length I did. Apparently they were of 
 no weight either way ! I wish now I had let 
 well alone." 
 
 She wished so too. 
 
 "I suppose it is all over; " she said, quietly. 
 "And the only thing I can do now is to try not 
 to regret ever having known Sir Patrick Kinellan. 
 Certainly he has done for me what no one else 
 ever tried to do — he has shown me myself. It 
 has been a little hard to bear. Perhaps he has 
 been a little cruel, a little harsh in his judgments ; 
 but how could he be expected to know better ? 
 He could only judge by what he saw. And he 
 has never seen the real Mary. But after all, 
 uncle," she wiped away a few tears, "the picture, 
 if not a perfect likeness, was near enough the 
 truth to hurt. I have lived a life of pleasure. I 
 have swung with the tide, and let it carry me
 
 CONCLUSION 295 
 
 wherever it would. Sir Patrick's idea of nie is a 
 true one, except," she paused, "except that he 
 does not know all. He does not know what 
 might have made him a httle less — hard. Uncle, 
 I have often had bad moments — moments when 
 it all seemed unutterably mean and poor, and 
 myself nothing but a worthless, useless creature. 
 Only these never lasted. Shall I tell 3''ou why '? 
 It is because I am so very weak, dear uncle." 
 She took his hand and stroked it fondly. "You 
 think far too highly of your poor Mary. You say 
 to yourself ' This is a fine girl. She knows what 
 she is about. She leads us all.' And you and 
 my mother are so kind and good, you let your- 
 selves be led, and you give in to me, and spoil 
 me, as all the rest do." 
 
 "I daresay, I daresay." (Who wouldn't? 
 thought he to himself.) 
 
 " But what I want is some one who would )iof 
 give in. Who would see my faults and help to 
 cure me of them, and yet — love me. Some one 
 whom I should have to obey — you don't think 
 so?" quickly, for she had caught an almost im- 
 perceptible shake of the head. "Oh, but you 
 don't know me either, uncle ; you don't know 
 the real Mary ; indeed, indeed you do not. If I
 
 296 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 could respect and love a man, I would surrender 
 my will — I should be glad to do it, proud to do 
 it. Of course it would have to be some one 
 strong enough " — again she paused, and hesi- 
 tated. " I thought I had found such an one," 
 she smiled a little bitterly, " but it appears I am 
 mistaken." 
 
 "Don't hanker after him, Mary. Don't, I 
 can't bear it." She his pride, his darling, to 
 have been thwarted, slighted, rejected by a 
 Puddock ! He said the words aloud in his angry 
 heart. His features twitched as he looked at her 
 now. 
 
 She returned the look calmly. " It is all right, 
 dear uncle. Old maids are often the happiest." 
 
 " Fiddlesticks — old maids ! " He fumed and 
 muttered incoherently ; then raised his head to 
 exclaim : — " What I can't get over is, that after 
 you — you who might have anybody, had lowered 
 yourself to think yon could put up with him " 
 
 " He couldn't put up with me." The frag- 
 ment of a smile re-appeared. " It does seem 
 comical, does it not?" 
 
 " It's — it's incredible." 
 
 She let it pass. 
 
 Later on in the day, they saw her looking out
 
 CONCLUSION 297 
 
 trains and writing busily. " She's going; " they 
 told each other, divining what this meant ; but 
 neither one nor the other durst inquire; and it 
 was not till her arrangements were complete 
 that she came in to announce them. 
 
 Her uncle and aunt were together, and simul- 
 taneously experienced a thrill of curiosity, not 
 unmingled with apprehension. 
 
 They knew what she was going to say ; but 
 how would she say it ? 
 
 She held up her head and spoke cheerfully. 
 "■ I have written for rooms at Oban for to- 
 morrow night, uncle Jo. It appears that the 
 Skye steamer will not touch here till late in the 
 afternoon, or possibly the evening ; and you 
 cannot send me off in the yacht because of that 
 tiresome boiler. I went down to see Captain 
 Binks, and he tells me he cannot get it put to 
 rights under a week." 
 
 " And you can't wait a week ? " 
 
 "No, dear; " quietly. 
 
 No more was said on either part, and orders 
 were given and preparations made with a certain 
 avoidance of each other by all concerned, which 
 seemed due to a tacit understanding. 
 
 " I only wish it were not such a wild, rough
 
 298 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 day, however," said Mrs. Mercer, as the Novem- 
 ber morning broke with driving clouds, and a 
 heavy sea running. A blast struck the windows 
 as she spoke, followed by a fierce spatter of rain. 
 " You are a good traveller, Mary, I daresay ; and 
 luckily we have a pier, so that you do not need to 
 go out into the middle of the Sound in a ferry- 
 boat, as they tell me used to be the way here, — 
 but I am afraid you will have a disagreeable 
 crossing." 
 
 "Ay, it will be pitch and toss off Lismore I 
 doubt not ; " appended Jonathan, returning from a 
 look out. " But after all, in a good-sized, steady- 
 going boat like the Clansman, you have no need 
 to mind. You will be better off in her than you 
 would have been in the Bravura; she would 
 have tipped about a good deal in weather like 
 this." 
 
 " I don't mind the weather; " said Mary. 
 
 She had been up once or twice in the night, 
 looking anxiously over the sea, in terror lest a 
 storm might really be rising which would of 
 necessity delay her departure. Anything rather 
 than that, she thought. 
 
 For her own part, she would go, go if a hurri- 
 gane blew and waterspouts were bursting round,
 
 CONCLUSION -299 
 
 — but it would hardl}^ be possible to maintain 
 this resolution should her uncle and aunt be 
 opposed to it. 
 
 It was therefore with relief that she noted the 
 subsidence of the elements with the dawn, and 
 the mere prospect of a few hours' unpleasantness 
 was nothing. 
 
 To be on the move, to get away from this 
 place, to be freed from the necessit}' of keeping 
 up appearances with those aware of her humili- 
 ation — for even her aunt had obviously now a 
 ghmmering of the truth — that with my ill-starred 
 heroine, was now all in all. 
 
 She strove to make her exit with dignity ; 
 bustled hither and thither collecting her goods ; 
 and must needs superintend their bestowal in 
 trunks and dress-baskets — a thing she had never 
 done before. 
 
 Sarah, wondering and aggrieved, fretted too 
 by directions and counter-directions, wished her 
 young mistress anywhere else. Had such super- 
 vision ever been previously required '> And was 
 it likely that she, Sarah, knowing what she had 
 brought, and that all which came must go back 
 again, could need be told of this, and reminded 
 of that, till she was at her wits' end ?
 
 800 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 Mary was making of it all an excuse for keep- 
 ing as much as possible within her own rooms. 
 If followed thither by a solicitous hostess, she 
 was still within earshot of Sarah. 
 
 Now and then the latter shuddered as the wind 
 moaned and whistled without. 
 
 It was indeed good news to be going ; she was 
 glad from her heart to be leaving this eerie spot 
 behind ; but she would thankfully have waited 
 for a better day and a more decent and leisurely 
 departure, had she been consulted. 
 
 She was kept packing like ten furies, how- 
 ever. 
 
 " We may not have to go till night, but we 
 must be ready by four o'clock; " said Miss Har- 
 borough, decidedly. "Indeed, we should really 
 be ready sooner, as the luggage has to be down at 
 the pier at four — or soon after. Don't mind 
 about that thing, Sarah;" — it was her best 
 dinner-dress, and she had worn it one evening — 
 she hated to look at it now. 
 
 " Get it in, somehow; " she cried, impatient of 
 the smooth foldings, and silver-paper wrappings. 
 "And get on — do get on," handing another article. 
 
 It was of an inappropriate nature, and Sarah 
 rebelled.
 
 CONCLUSION 301 
 
 " This, then"?" said the young lady, holding out 
 a rough driving coat. 
 
 " You will want that, miss, on the boat." 
 
 "Well, this?" It was a plaid, also laid aside 
 for travelling use. 
 
 " If you would leave it to me, miss ; " the poor 
 woman was in despair, " you are just tiring your- 
 self out, miss. I can manage, if you would go 
 downstairs " she hinted at last. 
 
 The afternoon wore on. 
 
 " I am glad you can have a cup of tea com- 
 fortably before you go, my dear." 
 
 Mrs. Mercer had with her own hands piled 
 fresh logs on the great wood fire, striving thus to 
 counteract the gloom of the outer world, where 
 the light was waning earlier than usual beneath 
 a heavily clouded sky ; and she assumed a 
 studiously cheerful tone in thus addressing her 
 niece, who came down to the drawing-room fully 
 equipped as the clock struck four. 
 
 " There is no hurry, you will be glad to hear ; " 
 proceeded the old lady, " Jenkynson has just 
 come back from the pier, and says that the boat 
 is not expected for an hour or two yet. She 
 must be late to-day, they say ; and more likely 
 than not it will be dark before she comes. In-
 
 302 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 deed it is getting dark now. Mary, I suppose," 
 hesitating, "if it should be very late, my dear, 
 and — and dark — would you not care to put 
 off " 
 
 " Oh no, my dear aunt. It is very kind of you 
 to wish it, but I never put off things. Besides 
 there is really nothing to mind, you know. It is 
 not even raining now." 
 
 Her aunt said no more, and the two sat down. , 
 
 " Where is uncle Jo?" demanded Mary. 
 
 " In his room. He will see you on board, of 
 course. But when I asked if he would not come 
 here and sit with us a little, he turned me out. 
 He feels your going, my dear." 
 
 " Will you excuse me for a minute, aunt '? 
 No, I won't have any more, thank you." She 
 had drunk feverishly, but eaten nothing. "I 
 may have to dine here, you know; " with a poor 
 attempt at jocularity; "you may not have done 
 with me yet ; and at any rate, if I am hungry I 
 can get something to eat on board the boat. But 
 
 I " rising and nervously pushing back the 
 
 low seat on which she had been sitting — ' ' I think 
 I will go to my uncle. I should like to — to see 
 him. I will come back again; " and she hurried 
 from the room.
 
 CONCLUSION 303 
 
 Her mind was full of something of which she 
 wished to disbm.-den it before starting, before 
 quitting for ever a painful and hateful subject — 
 and the opportunity for doing so was unexpected. 
 She had reckoned on the drive down to the pier. 
 It seemed now, however, as if her full heart must 
 discharge itself. 
 
 " If you please, miss " it was Jenkynson 
 
 in the corridor. Perhaps with some message 
 from the pier-master, some query about her 
 luggage ? 
 
 She anticipated him. "It is all gone, Jenkyn- 
 son : went about half-an-hour ago." 
 
 " Yes, miss. I passed the cart on my way up, 
 and the boat is not expected for some time yet, 
 miss. They think she may be some hours late. 
 It is Sir Patrick Kinellan who has called to see 
 you, miss." 
 
 Sir Patrick Kinellan ! She stood still, her 
 head turning round, the calm matter-of-fact 
 words ringing in her ears. 
 
 "Who — who did you say?" she murmured, 
 feebly. Afterwards she hoped he construed it 
 VTith * peevishly,' as one annoyed at a visitor at 
 such a moment. 
 
 " Sir Patrick Kinellan, miss. I showed him
 
 304 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 into the little room;" making way as if for 
 her to pass towards the indicated apartment. 
 
 " But my aunt is in the drawing-room." 
 
 " Sir Patrick asked for you, miss." 
 
 "For me? Oh? To say 'G-ood-bye,' I sup- 
 pose ; " still struggling to preserve appearances. 
 " Did you tell Sir Patrick I was just leaving, 
 Jenkynson ? Or — or did he seem to know ? " 
 
 " I said so, miss. But I think he knew. He 
 said he would not detain you. I saw him on the 
 pier, too ; " hinted Jenkynson. 
 
 " He would Isarn there that there was time, of 
 course." 
 
 "Yes, miss." 
 
 And now, she must go — she must go. A 
 momentary respite had been afforded by the 
 above, and time sufficient had been gained to 
 allow of her entering in a customary manner, and 
 taking it for granted that a polite parting call — 
 but surely it was unnecessary on Jenkynson's 
 part to induct a visitor even if he had specially 
 named herself as the person to whom the civility 
 was to be paid, into a small distant chamber, 
 instead of straight into her presence? Did 
 Jenkynson ? 
 
 She must not stop to think.
 
 CONCLUSION 306 
 
 Into the room she stepped with a forced gesture 
 of easy welcome. 
 
 He was between her and the hght, waiting, 
 with his face tm:ned towards the door. In both 
 hands he held his cap before him. Something in 
 the attitude reminded her of a beggar. 
 
 " So kind to come and wish me ' Good-bye ; ' " 
 cried she, gaily, and held out her hand. 
 
 He did not take it. 
 
 He stood as he was, and merely bent his head : 
 bent it and kept it bowed. 
 
 " Did you not come for that ? " she smiled. 
 " I am going, you know ; going this very minute 
 — that is the very minute the Clansman comes 
 in sight. You came to " 
 
 " I came to ask for this hand." 
 
 He looked towards it ; it fell by her side. 
 
 " Miss Harborough, you may well turn from 
 me" — for she had half turned away; "I can 
 scarcely hope that you will have the forbearance 
 to hear me ; but at least I shall have said it, and 
 God knows I mean it." He gazed at her with 
 burning eyes, his voice shook with agitation. 
 
 " Am I allowed to speak ? " 
 
 A slight movement ; he took it for assent. 
 
 "Your uncle may have told you — that some- 
 21
 
 306 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 thing — passed between ns — lately?" he mur- 
 mured, brokenly. " He had read my heart — as all 
 must have done — who could help it ? And in the 
 goodness of his, he thought to make my hard way 
 
 more easy. He " 
 
 " I know ; I know." 
 
 " Miss Harborough, I have led a life of solitude; 
 I have had through all life to lean upon my own 
 arm ; and walk my own path. Can it be won- 
 dered at if I sometimes blunder ? The other day 
 I — blundered. Call it by no harsher name, I 
 implore you, it wrung my very heart to bleeding. 
 
 But I thought — I thought " 
 
 " I understand." 
 " Can you forgive '? " 
 " I don't know." 
 
 Suddenly she burst out. " But why should 
 you change like this ? Why are you different to- 
 day from that day ? Why should you suppose 
 now that I could make you happy, if you did not 
 then?" 
 
 " I am not thinking of being made happy. I 
 love you so deeply, so truly, so unalterably ; " 
 again his voice shook and faltered, " that it no 
 longer seems to matter to me whether I am 
 happy or not. All that matters is, if I can be of
 
 CONCLUSION 807 
 
 any use to you. I am yours to do with what you 
 
 please. Take me now ; cast me off to-morrow ' ' 
 
 She looked at him mutely. 
 "Dear lady," he said, returning the look with 
 a calm and steadfast gaze, " that I should have 
 been so madly selfish as to think of my own ease 
 and peace at such a time seems almost incredible 
 to me now. When I spoke to your uncle, it is 
 true that I said — and believed when sa3'ing so I 
 spoke the truth — that I was but guarding against 
 a fearful mistake on your part, which would for 
 ever blight your life as it would mine. But I 
 know now that I was in reality thinking, shame 
 upon me ! more of myself than of you. You 
 
 would have found me faithful " 
 
 — "While I should have been faithless." 
 " Be faithless now, if you will, I am at your 
 feet." Again he bowed low before her. "My 
 heart is yours ; has been so from the first ; will 
 be so always. But you shall be free. Whatever 
 you command, I will obey. If I can be of any 
 use to you," he repeated, softly, " I am more than 
 honoured, I am content." 
 
 " Still you do not believe in me, Sir Patrick? " 
 "I believe in your great goodness, and in the 
 sincerity of your intentions."
 
 308 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 " My present intentions ; " significantly. 
 
 ** You are very young. I fancy your nature is 
 impulsive ; and forgive me if I suggest that it is 
 possible you have never given much time to 
 reflection." 
 
 "So you expect me to throw you off? Or if 
 hot that, to repent later of my present caprice ? " 
 
 A long pause ensued, then "I do " said he, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " And yet '? " 
 
 " And yet I ask you, I beg you from the depths 
 of my inmost heart, I entreat you to take me for 
 your affianced husband." 
 
 " Good Heavens, Sir Patrick," she started 
 aside, — *' was ever woman so entreated? Do you 
 think I would — or could? " 
 
 " That is what I came to learn." 
 
 " But it is unheard of." 
 
 " Oh, no ; " he shook his head gently. " Not 
 unheard of. What true knight would not gladly 
 lay down his life for her he loves ? And may I 
 not offer something, some poor offering, only too 
 grateful if it be accepted ? " 
 
 " Thinking of me as you do, you can't love 
 me." 
 
 No reply.
 
 CONCLUSION 809 
 
 " I say you can't," she cried, passionately, " but 
 if you knew me better, I think — oh, I know you 
 would not be so unjust and cruel. Sir Patrick, 
 indeed, indeed, I am not what I appear. The 
 world thinks of me as a giddy girl, caring for 
 nothing but the gratification of her own vanity 
 and pleasure. Those about me are ambitious for 
 my advancement, and I have let them think — no, 
 I will speak the truth — I have too often thought 
 with them, that to be what is commonly called ' a 
 great lady ' was the most desirable thing imagin- 
 able for me. But left to myself, I do not think 
 so. I have a better self that hates and scorns the 
 idea. I want to be — good ; " tears streamed down 
 her face ; "I want to learn what goodness is, and 
 practise it. I want to have another standard 
 from that I see raised about me. You hold it. 
 You are a religious man. I have watched you, 
 and know that there is something in your life 
 which makes you different from the men who come 
 
 round me. And I thought — I thought " she 
 
 struggled with her tears, "that you would help 
 me." She moved towards him, sobbing as she 
 came. 
 
 Another lover would have caught her in his 
 arms, but Sir Patrick stepped back a pace, then
 
 310 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 slowly and with an air of the deepest humility 
 bent low, and taking her hand in both of his, 
 kissed it. The light of a new world seemed 
 breaking in upon him. 
 
 " Don't speak, don't speak, till I can speak," 
 whispered she; "it is not — not altogether as 
 you think. I said. Did you suppose I could 
 accept you on your terms? I can't. I should 
 despise myself if I could. But do not think," 
 recovering herself somewhat, she smiled upon 
 him tenderly, whilst yet the tears welled 
 from her eyes, " that I can afford for this to 
 let go the only lover who has ever loved me 
 for myself and despite myself? Sir Patrick, let 
 this be our compact. I go from here to-night, 
 and we are not to meet, nor to write, nor to try 
 and influence each other in any way for a year's 
 time- " 
 
 • — " A whole year ! " Her heart leaped at his 
 tone. She laid her other hand in his. 
 
 "A whole long year." . . . They were now 
 gazing into each other's eyes. " I shall go my 
 way and you yours. . . . You know me better 
 now, I think?" softly, and leaning towards him, 
 " and perhaps you will begin to trust me from 
 to-night ? At the end of a year "
 
 CONCLUSION 811 
 
 " Summon me any time — any time," fervently. 
 
 " I shall not summon you before the year is 
 out. You have got to prove me, and I to prove 
 myself. I am not afraid ; but I daresay you 
 are " 
 
 " No, no. Not now." 
 
 " If doubts come into your mind, try to thrust 
 them out. Say ' She is a poor creatui'e, but she 
 loves me ' " 
 
 "May I? May I indeed say that?" He 
 hung upon her lips. 
 
 — "And commit her to the care of One who 
 sees not as men see, who knows the heart." 
 She was sobbing now upon his breast. 
 
 " Day and night I will so commit you — Mary." 
 
 "It is arranged then," said she, lifting her 
 head at last; "and — hush! they are at the door 
 now. The boat ? It must be the boat. One 
 ' moment, dear Sir Patrick, one promise you must 
 make me before we part. When the year is out, 
 if I send from wherever I am to wherever you 
 are, this little word ' Come,' will you come ? " 
 
 " So help me God," he said, " I will." 
 
 The year is almost expired, and the other day
 
 312 SIR PATRICK: THE PUDDOCK 
 
 when I chanced to be in at Redfern's where 
 smart winter costumes are on view, who should 
 enter to have her new tweed suit fitted on but the 
 beautiful heiress, Miss Mary Harborough. She 
 was going to Scotland, she said, within a week, and 
 positively must have her suit. I thought I had 
 never seen a lovelier face, nor one more radiantly 
 happy. As I knew her slightly I stepped forward 
 to enquire after uncle Jo ? 
 
 Her uncle was in the best of health, she said, 
 and at Losca Castle still. It was late in the year, 
 but — and oh, how she smiled ! — he was detained 
 there. She was about to join him. 
 
 Lady Harborough ? 
 
 Lady Harborough was also well, and also pro- 
 ceeding to the Highlands — presently. 
 
 Then I knew that what rumour had whispered 
 was for once the truth, and that the tartan plaid 
 across the broad breast of as honest and true- 
 hearted a little fellow as ever lived, covered a 
 heart which not many days thereafter would be 
 the proudest and most joyful heart in all the 
 length and breadth of bonnie Scotland. 
 
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 authors longer romances, and many of the leading characters of the latter figure in 
 u^' , ^^,'-l',','^"^s the attention of the reader at the very outset and holds it to the end • 
 while his skill as a story-teller is so great that his characters become real beings to us' 
 and the scenes which he describes seem actual and present occurrences as he narrates 
 them. —Sacred Heart Review, Boston. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF THE WOLF. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN, 
 
 author of " A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE," ETC. 
 
 With Frontispiece and Vignette by Charles Kerr, 
 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 "A delightful volume . . . one of the brightest, briskest talcs I have met with fori 
 long time. Dealing with the Eve of St. Bartholomew it portrays that night of horror from a 
 point entirely new, and, we may add, relieves the gloom by many a flash and s'eani of mn- 
 shine. Best of all is the conception of the VidSnie. His character alone would make the 
 book live." — Critic, N. Y. 
 
 " Recounted as by an eye witness in a forceful way with a rapid and graphic style that 
 commands interest and admiration. 
 
 Of the half dozen stories of St. Bartholomew's Eve which we have read thi» rankt firtl 
 in vividness, delicacy of perception, reserve power, and high principle.'' 
 
 — Christian Union, N. Y. 
 
 "A romance which, although short, deserves a place in literature alone »'Je ol Ch&tlct 
 Reade's ' Cloister and the Hearth.' . . . We have piven Mr. Wcyman's book not only 
 a thorough reading with great interest, but also a more than usual aninniit of s|>.iie Ixcaute 
 we consider it one of the best examples in recrnt fiction of how thrilling an. I even bloody 
 adventures and scenes may be described in a style that Is graphic and true to detail, and yel 
 
 aaventures ana scenes may be aescrinea ui a style inai is j 
 delicate, quaint, and free from all coarseness and brutality 
 
 — C 
 
 OMMKRCIAI. ADVERTISI-R, N. Y. 
 
 LONGMANS, GKEEN, & CO.. 91-93 FIFTH AVE.. NEW YORK.
 
 A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE. 
 
 Oainir the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonn*. 
 Sleur de Marsac. 
 
 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE HOUSB OF THE WOLF," ETC. 
 
 With Frontispiece and Vignette by H. J. Ford. 
 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 "■■'One of the best novels since 'Lorna Doone.' It will be read and then re»read for th« 
 .icre pleaetrre its reading gives. The subtle charm of it is not in merely transporting the 
 ninetcentlr-ceTitury reader to the sixteenth, that he may see hfe as it was then, but in trans- 
 forming him into a sixteenth-century man, thinking its thoughts, and living its life in perfecl 
 touch and sympathy ... it carries the reader out of his present life, giving him a new 
 and totally different existence that rests and refreshes him." — N. Y. World. 
 
 " No novelist outside of France has displayed a more definite comprehension of the very 
 essence of mediseval French life, and no one, certainly, has been able to set forth a depiction 
 of it in colors so vivid and so entirely in consonance with the truth. . . . The characters 
 in the tale are admirably drawn, and the narrative is nothing less than fascinating in its fine 
 flavor of adventure." — Beacon, Boston. 
 
 " We hardly know whether to call this latest work of Stanley J. Weyman a historical 
 lomance or a story of adventure. It has all the interesting, fascinating and thrilling charac- 
 teristics of both. The scene is in France, and the time is that fateful eventful one which 
 culminated in Henry of Navarre becoming king. Naturally it is a story of plots and intrigue, 
 of danger and of the grand passion, abounding in intense dramatic scenes and most interest- 
 ing situations. It is a romance which will rank among the masterpieces of historic fiction." 
 
 — Advertiser, Boston. 
 
 " A romance after the style of Dumas the elder, and well worthy of being read by thos« 
 who can enjoy stirring adventures told in true romantic fashion. . . . The great person- 
 ages of the time — Henry III. of Valois, Henry IV., Rosny, Rambouillet, Turenne — are 
 brought in skillfully, and the tragic and varied history of the time forms a splendid frame in 
 which to set the picture of Marsac's love and courage . . . the troublous days are well 
 described and the interest is genuine and lasting, for up to the very end the author manages 
 effects which impel the reader to go on with renewed curiosity." — The Nation. 
 
 "A genuine and admirable piece of work. . . . The reader will not turn manypages 
 before he finds himself in the grasp of a writer who holds his attention to the very last mo- 
 ment of the story. The spirit of adventure [lervades the whole from beginning to end. . . . 
 
 It may be said that the narration is a delightful love story. The interest of the reader 
 is constantly excited by the development of unexpected turns in the relation of the principal 
 lovers. The romance lies against a background of history truly painted. . . . The 
 descriptions of the court life of the period and of the (actional strifes, divisions, hatreds of th» 
 age, are fine. . . . This story of those times is worthy of a very high place among histori- 
 cal novels of recent years."— Public Opinion. 
 
 " Bold, strong, dashing, it is one of the best we have read for many years. We sat down 
 for a cursory perusal, and ended by reading it delightedly through. . . . Mr. Weyman 
 has much of the vigor and rush of incident of Dr. Conan Doyle, and this book ranks worthilv 
 beside ' I'he White Company.' . . . We very cordially recommend this book to the jaded 
 novel reader who cares for manly actions more than for morbid introspection." 
 
 — The Churchman. 
 
 "The book is not only good literature, it is a 'rattling good story,' instinct with the 
 tpirit of true adventure and stirring emotion. Of love and peril, intrigue and fighting, there 
 is plenty, and many scenes could not have been bettered. In all his adventures, and they 
 are many, Marsac acts as befits his epoch and his own modest yet gallant personality. Well- 
 known historical figures emerge in telling fashion under Mr. Weyman's discriminating and 
 fascinating touch." — Athenaeum. 
 
 "I cannot fancy any reader, old or young, not sharing with doughty Crillon his admiration 
 for M. de Marsac, who, though no swashbuckler, has a sword that leaps from its scabbard at the 
 breath of insult. . . . There are several historical personages in the novel ; there is, ol 
 course, a heroine, of great beauty and enterprise ; but that true ' Gentleman of France,' 
 M. dr Marsac, with his perseverance and valor, dominates them all." 
 
 — Mr. James Pavn in the Illustrateb London News. 
 
 LONGMANS, GEEEN, & 00., 91-93 FIPTH AVE., NEW YORK.
 
 THE STORY OF FRANCIS CLUDDE. 
 
 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "a gentleman OF FRAJ^'CE," "UNDER THE RED ROnE," "THE HOUSB OT 
 THE WOLF," "mV LADV ROTHA," ETC. 
 
 With FoLir Illustrations. Crown Svo, $1.25. 
 
 "A delightfully told and exciting tale of the troublesome times of Bloody Mary In Eng 
 land, and the hero — every inch a hero — was an important actor in them." 
 
 — New ORLEA.NS Picavl'.nk. 
 
 " It is a highly exciting tale from beginning to end, and very well told." 
 
 — New York Herald. 
 
 "One of the best historical novels that we have read for some time. . . . It is a 
 story of the time of Queen Marj-, and is possessed of great dramatic power. . . . In char- 
 acter-drawing the story is unexcelled, and the reader will follow the remarkable adventures 
 of the three fugitives with the most intense interest, which end with the happy change on 
 the accession of Elizabeth to the throne." — Home Journal, Bosto.v. 
 
 " The book presents a good historical pen-picture of the most stirring period of English 
 civilization, and graphically describes scenes and incidents which undoubtedly happened. 
 The style is plain, and the book well worthy of careful perusal. 
 
 " Humor and pathos are in the pages, and many highly dramatic scenes are described 
 with the ability of a master hand." — Ite.m, Phil^oelhhlv 
 
 " Is worthy of careful reading; it is a unique, powerful, and 
 scene of which is laid alternately in England, the Netherlands, a; 
 th^ times are those of Bloody Mary. Bishop Gardiner plavs a II.-. 
 which presents in good shape the manners and customs of llie pcric«l." 
 
 — Buffalo Commerciau 
 
 "A romance of the olden days, full of fire and life, with touches hi--^- •'" ' tl.r.. t i ., . 
 and politics. . . . NVe have in this book a genuine romance of Oil 
 soldiers, chancellors, dukes, priests, and high-born dames figure. The ■ 
 
 the war with Spain. Knightly deeds abound. The story will more than 4..;^.^ ^ . .. .^. . 
 
 it will charm him, and he will scan the notices of forthcoming books for another novel by 
 Weyman." — Public Oi'inion, New York. 
 
 "Its humor, its faithful observance of the old English style of wt;- 
 adherence to historic events and localities, will recommend it to all wli 
 novels. The scenes are laid in England and in the Netherlands in th- i 
 
 Queen Mary's life."— Literary World, Boston. 
 
 " Is distinguished by an uncommon display of the inventive farullv. n Diimas-lilte incenu- 
 
 ity in contriving dangerous situations, and an enviable fari!-' •• • •• ■ ■ •' • — ■•• - ' 
 
 hero from the very jaws of destruction. The scene is laid 
 erlands, and the Rhenish Palatinate; the times are those it 
 
 plays a leading part in this romance, which presents in goni :. .j". - ... ■ 
 
 of the period. It is useless dividing the story into arbitrar>' chapters, for they wiii not serve 
 to prevent the reader from 'devouring' the ' Story of Francis Cluddc,' from the stormy 
 Ijeginning to its peaceful end in the manor-house at Coton End." 
 
 — Puuuc Ledger, PHiu\DEiJ'HtA. 
 
 " This is certainly a commendable story, being full of interest and told with great 
 spirit. . . . It is a capital book for the young, and even the less hardened ner\*es of the 
 middle aged will find here no superfluity of gore or bnitality to mar their pleasure in a 
 bright and clean tale of prowess and adventure."— Nation, New York. 
 
 " A well-told tale, with few, if anv, anachronisms, and a credit to the clever talent uf 
 Stanley J. Weyman."— Springfield Republican. 
 
 " It is undeniably the best volume which Mr. Weyman hus ijiven us, both in literary 
 style and unceasing interest." — Yale Literarv Magazine. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 91-93 FIFTH AVE., NEW YORK.
 
 UNDER THE RED ROBE. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "a gentleman OF FRANCE," "THE HOUSK OF THE WOLF," ETC 
 
 With 1 2 Full-page Illustrations by R. Caton Woodvlllo. 
 1 2mo, Lineh Cloth. Ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 " Mr. Weyinan is a brave writer, who imagines fine things and describes them 
 splendidly. There is something to interest a healthy mind on every page of his new 
 story. Its interest never flags, for his resource is rich, and it is, moreover, the kind of 
 a story that one cannot plainly see the end of from Chapter I. . . . the story reveals 
 a knowledge of Freuch character and French landscape that was surely never ac- 
 quired at second hand. The beginning is wonderfully interesting." — New York Times. 
 
 " As perfect a novel of the new school of fiction as ' Ivanhoe ' or ' Henry Esmond ' 
 was of theirs. Each later story has shown a marked advance in strength and treat- 
 ment, and in the last Mr. Weyman . . . demonstrates that he has no superior 
 among living novelists. . . . There are but two characters in the story — his art 
 makes all other but unnoticed shadows cast by them — and the attention is so keenly 
 Sxed upon one or both, from the first word to the last, that we live in their thoughts 
 and see the drama unfolded through their eyes." — N. Y. World. 
 
 " It was bold to take Richelieu and his time as a subject and thus to challenge com- 
 parison with Dumas's immortal musketeers ; but the result justifies the boldness. . . . 
 The plot is admirably clear and strong, the diction singularly concise and telling, and 
 the stirring events are so managed as not to degenerate into sensationalism. Few 
 better novels of adventure than this have ever been written." — Outlook, New York. 
 
 " A wonderfully brilliant and thrilling romance. . . . Mr. Weyman has a positive 
 talent for concise dramatic narration. Every phrase tells, and the characters stano 
 out vv'ith life-like distinctness. Some of the most fascinating epochs in French history- 
 have been splendidly illuminated by his novels, which are to be reckoned among the 
 notable successes of later nineteenth-century fiction. This story of ' Under the Red 
 Robe' is in its way one of the very best things he has done. It is illustrated with 
 vigor and appropriateness from twelve full-page designs by R. Caton Woodville." 
 
 — Boston Beacon. 
 
 " It is a skillfully drawn picture of the times, drawn in simple and transparent 
 English, and quivering with tense human feeling from the first word to the last. It is 
 not a book that can be laid down at the middle of it. The reader once caught in its 
 whirl can no more escape from it than a ship from the maelstrom." 
 
 — Picayune, New Orleans. 
 
 "The 'red robe' refers to Cardinal Richelieu, in whose day the story is laid. 
 The descriptions of his court, his jud'cial machinations and ministrations, his partial 
 defeat, stand out from the book as vivid as flame against a background of snow. For 
 the rest, the book is clever and interesting, and overflowing with heroic incident. 
 Stanley Weyman is an author who has apparently come to stay." — Chicago Post. 
 
 " In this story Mr. Weyman returns to the scene of his ' Gentleman of France,' 
 although his new heroes are of different mould. The book is full of adventure and 
 characterized by a deeper studv of character than its predecessor." 
 
 — Washington Post. 
 
 "Mr. Weyman has quite topped his first success. . . . The author artfully 
 pursues the line on which his happy initial venture was laid. We have in Berault, the 
 hero, a more impressive Marsac ; an accomplished duelist, telling the tale of his own 
 adventures, he first repels and finally attracts us. He is at once the tool of Richelieu, 
 and a man of honor. Here is a noteworthy romance, full of thrilling incident set down 
 by a master-hand."— Philadelphia Press. 
 
 LOBrGMANS, GEEEN. & 00., 91-93 PIFTH AVE., NEW YOEK.
 
 MY LADY ROTHA. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR. 
 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 
 
 ATJTHOK OF "'a gentleman OF FRANCE," "UNDER THB HED KOBE," 
 
 "the house op the wolf." 
 
 With EifeTht Illustrations. Crown 8vo, $1.25. 
 
 " Few writers of fiction who have appeared in England in the last decade have given 
 their readers more satisfaction than Mr. Stanley J. VVcjman, and no single writer of this 
 number can be said to have approached him, much less tc. have equaled him in the romantic 
 world of the historical novel ... he has the art of storj'-iclling in tl.c highest degree, 
 the art which instinctively divines the secret, the soul ol the storj- which he tells, and the 
 rarer art, if it be not the arllessness, which makes it as real and as inevitable as life itself. 
 His characters are alive, human, unforgetable, resembling in this respect those of Thackeray 
 in historical lines and in a measure those of Dumas, with whom, and not inaptly, Mr. Wcy 
 man has been compaied. His literature is good, so good that we accept il as a matter of 
 course, as we do that of Thackeray and Scoit. . . . Mr. Weyman'i historical novels 
 will live.'' — New York Mail and Exi'Kess. 
 
 "... differs signally from Mr. Weyman's earlier pubhshed works. It is treated 
 with the minuteness and lovingness of a first story which has grown up in the mind of the 
 author for years. . . . Marie Wort is one of the bravest souls that ever mov d quietly 
 along the pages of a novel. She is so unlike the other feminine characters whom Wcyman 
 has drawn that the difference is striking and adds significance to this one book. . . . 
 ' My Lady Rotha ' is full of fascinating interest, all the more remarkable in a work adhering 
 so strictly to historical truth." — Evening Post, Chicago. 
 
 "This last book of his is brimful of action, rushing forward with a roar, leaving the 
 reader breathless at the close ; for if once begun there is no stopping place. 'I he concep- 
 tion is unique and striking, and the culmination unexpected. The author is so saturated 
 with the spirit of the times of which he writes, that he merges his personality .n that of the 
 supposititious narrator, and the virtues and failings of his nn n and w„mcn are set forth in a 
 fashion which is captivating from its very simplicity. It is one of his best novels." 
 
 — PtBLic Opinion. 
 
 "Readers of Mr. Weyman's novels will h ave no hesitation in pronouncing his just pub- 
 lished ' My Lady Rotha ' in every way his greatest and most artistic production. We 
 know of nothing more fit, both in conception and execution, to be c'assed with the immortal 
 Waverleys than this his latest work. ... A slory true to life and true to the times 
 which Mr. Weyman has made such a careful study." — Tmh Advkrtiskk. Boston. 
 
 " No one of Mr. Weyman's books is better than ' My 1 jdy Rotha ' unless it be ' Under 
 the Red Robe,' and those who have learned to like his stories of the old days when might 
 made right will cnpreciate it thoroughly. It is a good book to read and read again." 
 
 — Nhw Yokk Woklo. 
 
 "... As good a tale of adventure as any one need ask ; the picture of those war- 
 like times is an excellent one, full of life and color, the blare of trumpets and the flash o 
 jteel — and toward the close the description of the bcsieecd city of Nurenil)crg and of the 
 battle under Wallenstein's entrenchments is masterly." — Poston Travbi.i.kk. 
 
 "The loveliest and most admirable character in the story is that of a young Catholv girl, 
 while in painting the cruelties and savage barbarities o( war at that period the brii«;. is held 
 by an impartial liand. Hooks of adventure and romance are apt to be cheap and ,ensatinn.il, 
 Mr. Weyman's stories are worth tons of such stiifT. 'I'hey are thriHing, exciti-.e, ahsorhing, 
 Jnteresting, and yet clear, strong, and healthy in tone, written by a gentlcmpw and a man ol 
 sense and taste."— Sacked Heart Review, Hoston. 
 
 " Mr. Weyman has outdone himself in this remarkable hook. . . . The whole «l<irv 
 is told with consummate skill. The plot is artistically devised and cnro'ieil before the rrid- 
 er's eyes. 'J'he language is simple and apt, />nd the descriptions are grtphic and terse. I he 
 charm of the story takes hold of the reader on the very first page, and noldt him spell-bound 
 to the very end." — Naw Oklbans Picavunk. 
 
 tONGMANS, GKEEN, & CO., 91-93 FirTH AVENUE, NEW YOKK.
 
 THE RED COCKADE. 
 
 A NOVEL OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 
 
 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 
 
 WTHOR OF "a gentleman OF FRANCE," "UNDER THE RED ROBE," "THE HOUSE OP 
 THE WOLF," " MY LADY ROTHA," ETC. 
 
 With 48 Illustrations by R. Caton Woodville. Crown Svo, 
 Cloth, ornamental, $ 1 .50. 
 
 "Deserves a place among the best historical fiction of the latter part of this century. . 
 . . The gradual maddening of the people by agitators, the rising of those who have re- 
 venges to feed, the burnings and the outrages are described in a masterly way. The attack 
 on the castle of St. Alais, the hideous death of the steward, the looting of the great building, 
 and the escape of the young lovers — these incidents are told in that breathless way which 
 Weyman has made familiar in other stories. It is only when one has finished the book and 
 has gone back to reread certain passages that the dramatic power and the sustained passion 
 of these scenes are clearly felt." — San Francisco Chronicle. 
 
 " 'The Red Cockade,' a story of the French Revolution, shows, in the first place, care- 
 ful study and deliberate, well-directed effort. jMr. Weyman . . . has caught the spirit 
 of the times. . . . The book is brimful of romantic incidents. It absorbs one's interest 
 from the first page to the last; it depicts human character with truth, and it causes the good 
 and brave to triumph. In a word, it is real romance." — Syracuse Post. 
 
 "We have in this novel a powerful but not an exaggerated study of the spirit of the high 
 born and thd low born which centuries of aristocratic tyranny and democratic suffering en- 
 gendered in France. It is history which we read here, and not romance, but history which 
 is so perfectly written, so veritable, that it blends with the romantic associations in which it 
 is set as naturally as the history in Shakespeare's plays blends with the poetry which vital- 
 izes and glorifies it." — Mail and Express, New York. 
 
 " It will be scarcely more than its due to say that this will always rank among Weyman's 
 best work. In the troublous times of 1789 in France its action is laid, and with marvellous 
 skill the author has delineated the most striking types of men and women who made the Rev- 
 olution so terrible." — Ntw VoRK World. 
 
 " ' The Red Cockade ' is a novel of events, instinct with the spirit of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury and full of stirring romance. The tragic period of the French Revolution forms a frame 
 in which to set the adventures of Adrien du Pont, Vicomte de Sau.x, and the part he plays 
 in those days of peril has a full measure of dramatic interest. . . . INlr. Weyman has 
 evidently studied the history of the revolution with a profound realization of its intense 
 tragedy." — Detroit Free Press. 
 
 " The action of the storj- is rapid and powerful. The Vicomte's struggle with his own 
 prejudices, his unhappy position in regard to his friends, the perils he encounters, and the 
 great braverv he shows in his devotion to Denise are stnkingly set forth, while the historical 
 background 'is made vivid and convincing— the frenzy caused by the fall of the Bastile, the 
 attacks o'f the mob, the defence and strategy of the nobihty, all being described with dra- 
 matic skill and verisimilitude. It is a fascinating and absorbing tale, which carnes the reader 
 with it, and impresses itself upon the mind as only a novel of unusual merit and powei 
 tan do." — Boston Beacon. 
 
 "The storv gives a view of the times which is apart from the usual, and marked with a 
 fine study of history and of human conditions and impulse on Mr. Weyman s part. Regard- 
 ing his varied and well-chosen characters one cares only to say that they are full of interest 
 and admirably portrayed. . . . It is one of the most spirited stories of the hour, aad one 
 'A the most delightfully freighted with suggestion."— Chicago Interior. 
 
 "With so striking a character for his hero, it is not wonderful that IVIr Weyman has 
 evolved a story that for ingenuitv of plot and felicity of treatment is equal '« !°me °f h.s 
 best efforts. . . . 'The Red Cockade ' is one of the unmistakably strong historical ro- 
 mances of the season. "^Boston Herald. 
 
 " We are greatly mistaken if the ' Red Cockade ' does not take rank with the vary 
 best book that Mr. Weyman has written."— Scotsman. 
 
 LONGMAl^S, GREEIT, & CO., 91-93 HFTH AVE., NEW YOEX.
 
 SHREWSBURY. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF THE TIME OF WILLIAM AND MARY. 
 
 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 
 
 AUTHOR OF " * GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE," " UNDER THE RKD RO»E," " THE HOUIK Of TH« 
 
 wou'," " MV LADY ROTHA," rrc. 
 
 With 24- Illustrations by Claude A. Shepperson. Crown 8vo, 
 Cloth, ornamental, $ 1 .50. 
 
 " Mr. Stanley Weyman has written a rattling good r«mantlc sl»ry that it in every way 
 worthy of the author of the ever-delightful ' Gentleman of France.' " — New York Sin. 
 
 " Considered as Active literature, the novel is an achievement worlhv of high . . 
 praise. The characters are projected with admirable disuncmess: the whole story and it« 
 incidents are well imagwied and described ; the reader, while he cannot repress his contempt 
 for the supposed narrator, is always interested in the storj-, and there is an abundance >( 
 dramatic action. Mr. Weyman has caught the spirit of the narrative style ol the perioj 
 without endeavoring, evidently, to adhere to the vocabulary an J diction, or peculiariuei of 
 syntax. . . . Again we see that Mr. Weyman has no s«peri«r among living writeni of 
 romance." — PHiLADELniiA Pkess. 
 
 " Turning aside from mediseval French scenes, Stanley J. We\inan takes up in ' Shrew*^ 
 bury* an English theme, and he weaves from the warp and vfo*( of history and fancy a vivid, 
 unique, close-textured and enthralling romance. . . . Mr. Weyman has produced in 
 ' Shrewsbury' a novel that all admirers of his former books will be eager lo read, and that 
 will win for him new suffrages. The illustrations are drawn with skill and appreciatioo." 
 
 — Bealo.s, Boston. 
 
 " 'Shrewsbury' Is a magnificent confirmation of Mr. Weyman's high estate in tha world 
 of fiction. 
 
 Again he has proved in this, his latest novel, that the romantic treatment is capable, 
 under a masterly hand, of uniting the thrill of imagination with the dignity of real life. His 
 characters art^ alive, human, unforgetablc. His scenes are unhackneyed, dramatic, power- 
 ful. The action is sustained and consistent, sweeping one's interest al.>nK irreiistibly to ■ 
 dinoue)ite)it 3i\. once logical and climactic. And through it all there glow.s that literary charm 
 which makes his stories live even as those of .Scott and Dumas live. ... 
 
 The whole novel is a work of genuine literary art, fully confimiiiig the prediction that 
 when the author of 'A Gentleman of France' once began to deal with the historical maleriaU 
 of his own country he would cHnch his title to be ranked among the greatest •f rumantie 
 writers." — Chicago Tribune. 
 
 " Aside from the story, which is remarkably well told, this hook is of value for its fine 
 pen pictures of William of Orange and his leading courtier" — a story of abvirhing intrr<-»i, 
 but it differs materially from any of his other works. The best thing in the book i* the 
 sketch of Ferguson, the spy, and of the remarkable hold which he obtained orer proraiiirnt 
 men by means of his cunning and his malignancy. He dominates everx- »rcne in which hr 
 appears. Some of these scenes have rarely been excelled in hl'torical fiitlon for inten4it\ "f 
 interest. Those who have not read it, and who are fond of the romam r of adventure, wil' 
 find it fulfils Mr. Balfour's recent definition of the ideal novel -something whi^ h make* us 
 forget for the time all worry and care, and transports us to another aad more picturesque age " 
 
 --San Kramisco CHUOSici.r. 
 
 " A most readable and entertaining ston,-. . . . Fcnjusun and Smith, the p)«ltef<. 
 the mothers of the duke and Mary the courageous. wIm l)e(umr the wife of Prirr, all s*«-m 
 very real, and with the other characters and the adventures which they go ihr.^nfh make up 
 an interest-holding book which can be honestly recommended lu even' reader of ti.-tion." 
 
 — Homos Tivr-. 
 
 " A romance written in the author's best vein. The character drawing is particularlv 
 admirable, and Richard Price. Ferguson. King William and Prown stand out in strong relief 
 and with the most expressive vitality. The siorv it also interesting and contains many 
 strong scenes, and one follows the adventures of the variouo thnracters with unnbatcd ia 
 tereit from first page to laat." — Evrninc Gazkttk, Bustom. 
 
 LONGMANS, QEEEN. & CO., 91-93 FIFTH AVE.. NEW YORK.
 
 THE CASTLE INN. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 By STANLEY J. WEYMAN. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "a gentleman OF FRANCE," "UNDER THE RED ROBE, 
 "SHREWSBURY," ETC., ETC. 
 
 With six fuU-pagre Illustrations by Walter Appleton Clark. 
 Crown 8vo, Cloth, ornamental, $ 1 .50. 
 
 "A tale which is full of old-world romance and adventure. It has a strong flavor 
 of the under life in England when George the Third was young, when sign-posts 
 served also as gibbets, when travel was by coach and highwaymen were many, when 
 men drank deep and played high. There are plenty of stirring scenes along the way, 
 plenty of treachery and fighting at cross-purposes which lead to intricate and dramatic 
 situations. The heroine's charms recall Mile, de Cocheforet in ' Under the Red Robe,' 
 and she proves herself a maid of spirit through all the mishaps which befall her. One 
 of the most notable things about ' The Castle Inn ' is the way in which Mr. Weyman 
 has caught the spirit of the age, and manages to imbue his readers with its feeling." 
 
 — Detroit Free Press. 
 
 " .... In ' The Castle Inn,' this master of romance tells a story of the time 
 of George III. in the third person. ... A story of rapid action, with a swinging 
 succession of moving incidents that keep the reader incessantly on ihe qui vt've. It 
 deals with human emotions with directness and thoughtfulness." 
 
 — The Press, Phila., Pa. 
 
 "... ' The Castle Inn ' . . . is so fresh and entertaining that it takes one 
 back to 'A Gentleman of France,' and other good things this author did several years 
 ago. Mr. Weyman, in looking about for an appropriate setting for his romance, very 
 wisely eschews scenes and people of to-day, and chooses, instead, England a hundred 
 and thirty years ago, when George III. was on her throne, and living was a far more 
 picturesque business than it is now. Beautiful maidens could be kidnapped then; 
 daring lovers faced pistols and swords in behalf of their sweethearts, and altogether 
 the pace was a lively one. Mr. Weyman knows how to use the attractive colorings to 
 the best advantage possible."— Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 "... a piece of work which is infinitely better than anything else which he 
 has accomplished. He has treated the eighteenth century, the time of the elder Pitt, 
 with a grasp and a sympathy that presage a greater reputation for this novelist than 
 he has enjoyed hitherto. The story itself is worth the telling, but the great thing is 
 the way it is told."— New York Sun. 
 
 "... he has a firm grasp of his period in this book, and revives the atmos- 
 phere of the last century in England, with its shallow graces and profound brutality, 
 coherently and even with eloquence . . . it is a most interesting story, which 
 should please the reader of romantic tastes and sustain the author's reputation." 
 
 — New York Tribune. 
 
 "The characters in the book are all entertaining, and many of them are droll, 
 while a few, like the conscientious Mr. Fishwick. the attorney, and the cringing 
 parasite, Mr. Thoniasson, are, in their own way, masterpieces of character study. 
 Take it all in all, ' The Castle Inn ' is in many ways the best work which has yet come 
 from Mr. Weyman's pen." — Commercial Advertiser, New York. 
 
 " Mr. Weyman has surpassed himself m ' The Castle Inn.' From cover to cover 
 the book teems with adventure and romance, and the love episode is delicious. Julia 
 will live as one of the most graceful heroines in the literature of our time. . . . 
 We get an excellent idea of the doings of fashionable society in the time when George 
 III. was young, and altogether the volume can be heartily recommended as the best 
 thing that Weyman has done, and, in the opinion of one, at least, the most fascinating 
 book of the season." — Home Journal, New York. 
 
 LONaMANS, GREEN, & CO., 91-93 FIPTH AVE., NEW YORK.
 
 BATTLEMENT AND TOWER. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 By OWEN RHOSCOMVl., 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the jewel OF VNVS GALON." 
 
 With Frontispiece by R. Caton Woodville. 12mo, Cloth, 
 Ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 " It is a rare tale of the wars of the Commonweallh. The hero, Howel, is a youiiK 
 Welsh lord whose father gives him his hereditary sword and shield, and sends hini to 
 battle for the king. His adventures in love and war are ititenselv fascinating, and the 
 reader puts down the book with e.\treme reluctance. The author has carefully studied 
 the history of the times, and, besides being a thrilling tale, his story is a charniinij 
 picture of the manners and customs of the day. It is a book well worth reading." 
 
 — Nkw Orleans Picavlse. 
 
 " • • • a powerful romance by Owen Rhosconiyl of the swashbuckling davs ill 
 North Wales, when the Roundheads warred against the Cavaliers, and Charles 'l. o( 
 England lost his head, both metaphorically and literallv. . . . The picturesque 
 and virile style of the author, and the remarkable power'he displays in his character 
 drawing, place his book among the notable pieces of fiction of the year. There is 
 plenty of lighting, hard riding, lo\ e-making, and blood-letting in the story, but the 
 literary touch given to his work by the author places his product far above the average 
 of the many tales of like character that are now striving to satisfy the present demand 
 for fiction that has power without prurience." — World, New York. 
 
 "There is a vein of very pretty romance which runs through the more stirring 
 scenes of battle and of siege. The novel is certainly to be widely read by those who 
 love the tale of a well-fought battle and of gallant youth in the days when men carved 
 their way to fame and fortune with a sword." — Advertiser, Boston. 
 
 FOR THE WHITE ROSE OF ARNO. 
 
 A Story of the Jacobite Rising of 1 74-5. 
 
 By OWEN RHOSCOMYL. 
 Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $ 1 .25. 
 
 " Owen Rhoscomyl has already written some rare stories of the wars nf ihe Com- 
 monwealth that have met with a splendid showing of practical appreciation by a 
 world-wide circle of readers. This latest novel by the pleasing Welsh writ< r- i ; one of 
 the most powerful romances that have emanated from his pen, and will ' 
 ceive as graceful a welcome to fiction literature as his previous etForts h . 
 is a stirring story of Wales when the Roundheads were warring against t: 
 and Charles I of England lost his head and liis coveted throne. .The st(ii\ r. l>i:in!ul 
 of fighting, of hard travel and riding, and old-time love making, and the Mavor of old 
 world chivalry in the tendeier portions of the novel is charming and complelc. With 
 tlu; pen of a realist, the author hurries his readers back to live over the dead, old wars, 
 to dwell in strange Welsh castles that long ago crumbled into dust, and to view the 
 history and romances of those early days as something tangible with our own exist- 
 ences. The style is always active, virile and picturesque, and there Is not a dull or 
 tame chapter in the book."— Courier, Bosto.n. 
 
 "The story is told with spirit, and holds the attention without effort. The action 
 is swift, the episodes stirring, the character drawing admirable, and the style good. 
 The ultimate defeat of the Pretender, and the final diiiouement are tragic in their 
 intensity, and powerfully pictured." — Brooklyn Times. 
 
 "This is a really stirring story, full of wild adventure, yet having an atmosphere 
 of historic truthfulness, and conveying incidentally a good deal of inlormation that 1> 
 evidently based upon fresh study."— Times, Philadelphia. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 91-93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YOEK.
 
 THE JEWEL OF YNYS GALON 
 
 BEING A HITHERTO UNPRINTED CHAPTER IN 
 THE HISTORY OF THE SEA ROVERS. 
 
 By OWEN RHOSCOMYL 
 
 With 1 2 Illustrations by Lancelot Speed. 
 Crown SvOj Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 ' The tale is exceptionally well told , the descriptive passages are strong and vlv' 
 id without being over-elaborated ; and the recital of fights and adventures on sea and 
 land is thrilling, without leading to any excess of horrors. The characters in the book 
 are not all villians, but the progress of the narrative is lighted up by the ideals and 
 strivings of brave and honorable men. The book is certainly a most attractive addi- 
 tion to fiction of adventure, for it shows a fine degree of imagination on the part of the 
 author. A glance at the illustrations by Lancelot Speed will alone be enough to incite 
 a reading of the story from beginning to end." — The Beacon, Boston. 
 
 " It is a work of genius — of the romantic-realistic school. The story is one of 
 pirates and buried treasure in an island off the coast of Wales, and so well is it done 
 that it fascinates the reader, puttnig him under an hypnotic spell, lasting long after the 
 t30ok has been laid aside. It is dedicated to 'every one whose blood rouses at a tale 
 of tall f.ghts and reckless adventure,' to men and boys alike, yet there will be keener 
 appreciation by the boys of larger growth, whose dreams ' of buried treasure and of 
 one day discovering some hoard whereby to become rich beyond imagination ' have 
 become dim and blurred in the ' toil and struggle for subsistence.' ' The Jewel of Ynys 
 Galon' is one of the great books of 1895 and will live long." — The World, New York. 
 
 " It is a splendid story of the sea, of battle and hidden treasure. This picture of 
 the times of the sea rovers is most skillfully drawn in transparent and simple English, 
 and it holds from cover to cover the absorbed interest of the reader." 
 
 — Press, Philadblphia. 
 
 " It is a story after the heart of both man and boy. There are no dull moments in 
 it, and we find ourselves impatient to get on, so anxious are we to see what the next 
 turn in the events is to bring forth; and when we come to the end we exclaim in 
 sorrow, " Is that all? " and begin to turn back the leaves and re-read some of the most 
 exciting incidents. 
 
 Owen Rhoscomyl has just the talents for writing books of this kind, and thev are 
 worth a dozen of some of the books of to-day where life flows sluggishly on in a draw- 
 ing-room. When the author writes another we want to know of it." — Times, Boston. 
 
 " The style of this thrilling story is intensely vivid and dramatic, but there is 
 nothing in it of the cheap sensational order. It is worthy a place among the classics 
 for boys." — Advertiser, Boston. 
 
 "The present school of romantic adventure has produced no more strikingly im- 
 aginative story than this weird tale of Welsh pirates in the eighteenth century. . . . 
 A most enthralling tale, . . . told with great artistic finisn and with intense spirit. 
 It may be recommended without reserve to every love'.' of this class of fiction." 
 
 — Times, Philadelphia. 
 
 " It is one of the best things of its kind that have appeared in a long time. . . . 
 We do Bot know how far this tale may be taken to be historical, ana, to be frank, 
 we don't care. If these things did not happen, thev might have happened, and ought 
 to have happened, and that is enough for us. If you like 'Treasure Island' and 
 'Kidnapped' and the 'White Company' and 'Francis Cludde' and ' Lorna Doone,' 
 get ' The Jewel of Ynys Galon ' and read it. You will not be disappointed." 
 
 —Gazette, Colorado Springs, Col. 
 
 " Our own interest in the book led us to read it at a sitting that went far into the 
 night. The old Berserker spirit is considerably abroad in these pages, and the blood 
 coursed the faster as stirring incident followed desperate situation ana daring enter* 
 V)rise."— Literary World, London. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 91-93 TIFTH AVE., NEW YOEK.
 
 THE KING'S RIVALS. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL NOVEL OF THE TIME OF CHARLES IL 
 
 By E. N. BARRO^V. 
 
 With Frontispiece by W. D. Stevens. 
 Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental. Price, $i 25. 
 
 The book ought at once to take rank as one of the notable novels of the year. 
 Written in a style of singular purity and elegance, it exemplifies the highest typcol 
 historical romance. . . . There is enough of incident never to let the reader's 
 attention flag, and the plot is worked out with great skill. . . This book may he 
 safely brought into the family circle, and put into the hands of the young. We bespeak 
 for it a large and delighted circle of readers."— Livi.ng Church, Chicago. 
 
 "This is an unusualiy charming story, the scenes of which are laid in the early 
 colonial limes, and shifts from the colonies to London and back again. The hero is a 
 lad, picked up at sea. ... An unusual refinement about the boy leads people <» 
 believe him the scion of some aristocratic family. . . He goes, finally, Kick fo 
 
 England to claim his rights and through some curious chance becomes the King's 
 Rival. The story is quaintly and beautifully told."— New Orlkans Picavu.se. 
 
 " . . . Many historical personages appear on the stage, among them Charles II., 
 Lady Castlemaine and the Duchess of Albemarle. The plot is good, and the story is 
 well worked up and interesting. At the very least Jie author deserves a captaincy in 
 Col. Stanley J. Weyman's regiment of romancers."— Exprkss, Bukfalo. N. Y. 
 
 A LOVER'S REVOLT. 
 
 A NOVEL OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. 
 
 By J. W. DE FOREST, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " OVKKLA.SD," "KATE BEAIMONT," KTC, KTC. 
 
 With Frontispiece by George Varian 
 Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental. Price, $1.50 
 
 "The conscientious care with which he records history and native types will give 
 bis books a value somewhat apart from the amusement to be got out of them. 
 
 — NKW \i>RK IIMI-.S 
 
 "Alovestory with a military setting, and a very readable one at that. . . . 
 he culls enough that is historicallv true to clothe with interest a rather straiiKe. bwi 
 not unreal orlmpossible, drama of love. The characters are all interesting, and the 
 book is good enough to diffuse contentment while its 400 and more pages are under 
 the eyes." — Globe, Boston. 
 
 "A truly delightful historical novel that deserves to rank in •Hugh Wviiik-s ' 
 class."— Express, Buffalo. 
 
 "A thrilling story of the Revolutionary War . . . '»'' <:"' ""^JllJVnml h.* 
 decade from hil erstwhile prolific pen In the ong *' ''"^^v- ";^r\;': ''^-J "' ra." 
 gained new skill, and the reader recalls for e>"P''»''J^ «"''/''^^"^"''^" , 'for a^ Amcri' . • 
 of Mr W D Howells for all De Forest's work. Thank Hea\cii lor an Amff'Y' 
 who can no more s?t in impartial judgmetit on his own country than he could on h. 
 
 own mother."— Pilot, Boston. 
 
 LONGMANS, GEEEN, & 00,. 91-93 FIFTH AVE.. NEW TORK.
 
 THE ARCHDEACON. 
 
 A STORY. 
 
 By Mrs. L. B. WALFORD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE BABY'S GRANDMOTHER," " LEDDY MARGET," ETC., ETC. 
 
 Crown 8vo, Buckram Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " ■ The Archdeacon ' is a keen, wise, charmingly told story of character, conduct, 
 and love. . . . We won't anticipate our reader's pleasure by setting forth the 
 denouement. It is enough to say that it is delightful." — New York Tribune. 
 
 ■' It is such a pleasing narrative that it holds the reader's attention from beginning 
 to end. . . . It is a healthy, wholesome and pleasing story, without 'problems' 
 and free from mawkish sentimentality."— Evening Post, Chicago. 
 
 " The story is in every way to be commended as a healthful, wholesome tale of 
 modern English life. An easy, natural atmosphere pervades the whole of it." 
 
 —Transcript, Boston. 
 
 "One of the pleasant English stories, always sweet and pure, and full of heart 
 interest, that Mrs. Walford knows so well how to write. In this one the hero is a 
 brilliant young churchman who rises high in his profession, but grows worldly and 
 cold, and loses sight of the high ideals with which he set out. Love for a women who 
 is strong enough to point out his failings to him, finally restores him to the simple 
 faith of his youth."— Picayune, New Orleans. 
 
 ' A well-received and well-written novel." — Plain Dealer, Cleveland, Ohio. 
 
 LEDDY MARGET. 
 
 By Mrs. L. B. WALFORD. 
 
 Crown 8vo, Buckram Cloth, $1,50. 
 
 " ' Leddy Marget ' is a pathetic, graceful, amusing and winning book, and it will 
 linger in the memory when much of the more pretentious fiction of its day is for- 
 gotten."— New York Tribune. 
 
 " Not only charming for its simplicity and directness, but is significant for the 
 qualities which ditferentiate it from the stories of the majority of this lady's sisterhood. 
 , . . Individual and sincere, gracious and courteous, there never was a more lovable 
 old gentlewoman than Leddy Marget."— Mail and Express, New York. 
 
 ''There is little that can be said about this story ; it must be read, for its charm 
 cannot be reflected in a review, its delicate atmosphere cannot be reproduced. . . . 
 Therefore we wish to advise our readers to give an hour to this delightful trifle ; and 
 when they have done so they will agree with us, and we hope, be duly grateful— to 
 Mrs. Walford for creating Lady Marget, and to us for introducing them to her." 
 
 — Critic, New York. 
 
 " Altogether this is a delightfully satisfying book. We hope it may be widely 
 read."— Living Church, Chicago. 
 
 " Although Mrs. Walford has written many novels of wider plan, she has written 
 nothing sweeter."— Public Opinion, New York. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 91-93 FIPTH AVE., NEW YORK.
 
 FLOTSAM. 
 
 THE STUDY OF A LIFE. 
 
 By henry SETON MERRIMAN. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "with edged TOOLS," "THE SOWERS," ETC. 
 
 With Frontispiece and Vignette by H. G. MASSEY. 
 1 2mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 " The scene of this thoroughl}- interesting book is laid at the time of the Rreav 
 Indian mutiny of 1857, and the cliapters devoted to that terrible episode in the history 
 of English rule in India are among tlie most interesting in the volume, the capture of 
 Delhi in particular being graphically described." — Herald, Oneonta, N. V. 
 
 " It is a powerful study." — Cinci.nnati Co.mmercial Gazette. 
 
 " One of the strongest novels of the season." — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 " It is decidedly a novel worth reading." — New Engla.nd Magazine. 
 
 "... From first to last our interest in the dramatic development of the plot is 
 never allowed to flag. ' Flotsam ' will amply sustain the reputation which Mr. 
 Merriman has won." — Charleston News and Courier. 
 
 " It is a rather stirring story, dealing with breezy adventures in the far East, and 
 sketching in strong outlines some very engaging phases of romance in India not down 
 in Mr. Kipling's note-books."— Independent, New York. 
 
 " It is a novel of strong, direct, earnest purpose, which begins well in a literary 
 sense and ends better."— Sun, Baltimore. 
 
 " A brilliant gift for characterization and dramatic effect put his novels amoiii; 
 the best of the season for entertainment, and, to no small extent, for instruction." 
 
 —Dial, Chicago. 
 
 " Mr. Merriman can write a good story ; he proved that in ' The Sowers,' and he 
 shows it anew in this. . . . The story is a strong one and told with freshness and 
 simple realism."— Current Literature, New York. 
 
 " His story is remarkably well told."— Herald, Colu.mbia, Mo. 
 
 " It is a novel written with a purpose, yet it is entirely free from preaching or 
 moralizing. The young man, Harry Wylam, whose careei from childhood to the 
 prime of manhood is described, is a bright, daring, and lovable character, who starts 
 with every promise of a successful life, but whose weakness of will, and love of 
 pleasure, wreck his bright hopes midway. The author shows unusual skill in dealing 
 with a subject which in less discreet hands might have been an excuse for morbidity." 
 
 —Boston Beacon. 
 
 " A story of lively and romantic incident. . . . His story is remarkably well 
 told."— New York Sun. 
 
 "The story is full of vigorous action . . . and interesting." 
 
 — PtjBLic Opinion. 
 
 LONGMANS. GEEEN, & 00, 91-93 FITTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
 
 THE VIOLET. 
 
 A Novel. 
 By JULIA MAGRUDER, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " PRINCESS SONIA," ETC. 
 
 With 1 1 Illustrations by Charles Dana Gibson, Crown 8vo, 
 Cloth, Ornamental, Gilt Top, $ 1 ,25. 
 
 "Julia Magruder has made a very pretty story of The Violet '—a story with just 
 those touches of graceful sentiment that are sure to gratify the girl reader. ... It 
 is a pleasure to come upon a romance so pure in motive, so rehned in sentiment, and 
 so delicate in manner . . . and the book has an added charm in the illustrations 
 by Charles Dana Gibson, who seems to have caught the spirit of the text to a nicety, 
 aiid to have interpreted it with an admirably sympathetic technique." 
 
 —Beacon, Boston. 
 
 "Julia Magruder has given her readers a charming story in ' The Violet ' — one as 
 sweet and simple and lovely as the modest flower itself. . . . It is a beautiful 
 character study, breathing forth the fragrance of womanly sweetness in every phrase. 
 The illustrations by Gibson are apt, and the binding and make-up of the book appro- 
 priately attractive."— Times, Boston. 
 
 " Is a good, wholesome love story. The plot is natural and the characters real. 
 . . . ' The Violet ' is a study which the reader may wish could have been pro- 
 longed."— Eagle, Brooklyn. 
 
 "A story altogether as beautiful and inspiring as its name . . . one of the 
 most charming books of the season, as it is an old fashioned story with a delicious bit 
 of mystery interwoven with the romance of a young heroine who, though poor, pos- 
 sesses every grace and accomplishment." — Courier, Boston. 
 
 " It is a pure, sweet story, with a fragrance as of violets clinging to it, and it de- 
 lightfully sets forth the attributes of true manhood and true womanhood." 
 
 —Home Journal, N. Y, 
 
 DOREEN. 
 
 The Story of a Singer. 
 By EDNA LYALL, 
 
 author OF " WK I wo," "DONOVAN," "THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER," " IN 
 THE GOLDEN DAYS," ETC., ETC. 
 
 Crown 8vo, Buckram Cloth, Ornamental, $1 .50. 
 
 " A plot which has original life and vigor. . . . Altogether a good novel, and 
 if the author had written nothing else she could safely rest her literary reputation on 
 ' Dnreen.' " — Public Opinion, N. Y. 
 
 " Edna Lyall's . . . new story ... is one of her best. It has, naturally, 
 enough of tragedy to make it intensely interesting without being sensational in any 
 offensive sense. The heroine, Doreen, is a delightful character, sturdy, strong, lovable, 
 womanly, and genuinely Irish. Miss Bayly is a conscientious writer, imbued with 
 deep feeling, a high purpose, and her style is attractive and pure." 
 
 — Boston Daily Advertiser. 
 
 " It is a very clever story indeed, and skillfully written." 
 
 —New Orleans Picayune. 
 
 " This is ;ierhaps one of the best of Edna Lyall's clever stories. Doreen is a young 
 Irish girl, who loves her native land, and who is a credit to her race. . . . Inter- 
 woven with the story of her experience and of her love for a young Englishman is an 
 intere •■ting account of the rise and progress of the Home Rule movement. Miss Lyall's 
 book IS a charming tale, and will not fail to delight every one who reads it. The girl 
 Doreen :s a beautiful character." — Catholic News. 
 
 LOIfGHAUS, GEEETSr, & 00., 91-93 FIFTH AVE., NEW YOEK.
 
 WAYFARING MEN. 
 
 By EDNA LVALL, 
 
 AUTHOK or "DONOVAN," " \VH TWO," " DORBCN," ETC. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1.50. 
 
 I ulll- 
 
 "... We take up Edna Lyall's last novel . . . with high expectations, and 
 we are not disappointed. Miss Bayly has acquired a wonderful insight into human nature. 
 and this last production of her pen is full of the true portrayals of life. . . . The whole 
 book is a whiff of ' caller air ' in these days of degenerate fiction." 
 
 — COM.MERCIAL AUVEKTISEK, NeW VuKK. 
 
 " One of her best stories It has all the qualities which have won her popularity in the 
 past." — Sentinel, Milwaukee. 
 
 " A well-written and vigorous story." — Observer, New York. 
 
 " It is a strong story, thoroughly well constructed, . . . with the characters very 
 skilfully handled. . . . Altogether the story is far above the ordinar>', and bids fair to 
 be one of the most successful of the opening season." — Co.m.mercial, IUffalo. 
 
 " Edna Lyall . . . has added another excellent volume to the number of her ro- 
 mances. ... It sustains the reputation of the author for vigorous writing and graceful 
 depicting of life, both in the peasant's cabin and the noble's hall.'" 
 
 — Observer, Utica, New Yukk. 
 
 " Miss Lyall's novel is one of unflagging interest, written in that ilcir, viri!..- ~tylc, witli 
 its gentle humor and dramatic effectiveness, that readers well kn.. .■. . . 
 
 On many pages of the story the writer reveals her sympathetic . 
 the Irish. ' Wayfaring .Men ' is a Uterarv tonic to be warmly wcl' 
 mended as an antidote to much of the unhealUiy, morbid, and encrv.HiM.k; h' li :i .1 iKc day. 
 
 * — Press, I'liii^iiELrHiA. 
 
 " The author has made a prettv and interesting love-story, ... a truthful picture uf 
 modern stage life, and a thoroughly human story that holds the interest to the end." 
 
 — ■rRlBL\\E. CmICAIAJ. 
 
 " It is a story that you will enjoy, because it does not start out • 
 than five hundred pages, only to wind up by being suppressed 1 
 bright story of modern Hfe, and it will be enjoyed by those wh ■ 
 
 ' We Two," and other books by this author."— Ci.scinnati Tribl.ne. 
 
 "A new book by Edna Lyall is sure of a hearty welcome. ' Wayfaring Men* will not 
 disappoint any of her admirers. It has many of the characteristics of her earlier and still 
 popuiar bwftks. It is a story uf theatrical life, with which the author show* an unusually 
 extensive and sympathetic acquaintance."— New Orleans ricAViNE. 
 
 " Characterized by the same charming simplicity of stvic and realism that w..» for 
 ' Donovan' and ' Knight Errant' their popularity. . . . Miss Lyall has made no attempt 
 to- create dramatic situations, though it is so largely a Uilc of stage life, but has dealt with 
 the trials and struggles of an actor's career with an insight and dehcacy that arc truly pleas- 
 ing." — The Argo.nal'T, San Francisco. 
 
 " Is a straightforward, interesting story, in which people ;i' 
 much to do. The hero is an actor, young and guod. and ihc her 
 ines are sure to be— is a real woman, winning and lovable. I I. 
 the book to please romance-lovers, and there are no probl-- 
 love a story for the story's sake. It will not disappoint i 
 have learned to look forward with impatient expectation i . 
 
 'next novel' ' Wayfaring Men' is sure of a wide and a saiiihcJ iwuUi:i>;." 
 
 ' — Wo.ma.\kiso, bPKiNcriitU), Omiu. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 91-93 riTTH AVE.. NEW YORK.
 
 HOPE THE HERMIT 
 
 A ROMANCE OF BORROWDALE. 
 By EDNA LYALL, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " DOREEN," "WAYFARING MEN," ETC. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1.50. 
 
 "When Edna Lyall wrote this book she stepped into the front ranli of living novelists. 
 It exemplifies the finest type of historical romance, which is, of course, the highest form of 
 lictious literature. The scene of the story is one of the loveliest which could have been 
 chosen, the lake region of England. . . . Her story is full of life and incident, and at 
 the same time conveys lessons of high morality. . . . Altogether this is one of the 
 liealthiest, purest, best, and most powerful romances in the whole range of English 
 literature." — Living Church, Chicago. 
 
 "Miss Bayly . . . by careful e.xamination of her authorities has been able to con- 
 struct an uncommonly good romance of the days when brother's hand was against brother. 
 It is distinctly good work — a stirring story and in every way creditable to the author." 
 
 — Public Opinion, New York. 
 
 " The characters are well drawn, never mere puppets. There is a coherent, well- 
 thought-out, and carefully developed plot, and the style is clear and straightforward. The 
 story is wholesome and interesting, and much better worth reading than a good many of 
 the so-called ' stories of adventure.' " — Beacon, Boston. 
 
 " There are few novelists of the present day whose writings are better known and liked 
 than those of Edna Lyall. They are always clean, pure and wholesome, and delightful read- 
 ing. The latest, ' Hope the Hermit,' deals with her favorite period, the seventeenth century. 
 We have the revolution, the accession of William and Mary, and the Jacobite plots, and 
 among the real characters introduced are Archbishop Tillotson, Lady Temple and George 
 Fox, the Quaker. . . . 'I'he story ends as all love stories should, to be perfectly satisfactory 
 to the average novel reader, and ' Hope the Hermit ' will find many readers, who are fond 
 of a good story well told.'' — Advertiser, Portland, Me. 
 
 " She is quite at home with her theme. . . . It is a fine historical novel, admirably 
 written, and one of her best books." — Literary World, Boston. 
 
 "... is one of those delightful stories that have made the author very popular 
 and that one can take up with the absolute certainty of finding nothing unclean or repel- 
 lent. It is a clear, strong, well-designed, refreshing story, based upon scenes and events 
 in the days of William and Mary of England — days when a man could hardly trust his own 
 brother, and when sons were on one side in a rebellion, and the father on the other. . . . 
 Many of the situations are very exciting, the characters are admirably drawn, and the whole 
 telling of the story is entertaining, grateful and artistic. We regard it as quite as good as 
 ' Donovan,' and the other popular stories by the same author." — Buffalo Commercial. 
 
 " Miss Bayly has kept her pages clean and white. The book is preeminently suitable 
 to the shelves of a circulating library, as well as to the reading-table under tjie family lamp. 
 It not only entertains, but gives historical data in a pleasantly impressive manner . . . 
 we have, notwithstanding a few extravagances, a very fascinating story, enlivened by the 
 admitted license of the wTiter of romance." — Home Journal, New York. 
 
 " This latest work of Miss Bayly has all the qualities which have won her popularity in 
 the past. The book should have a considerable vogue, appealing, as it does, not only to 
 those who like quick action, plenty of adventure, and much picturesqueness, but also to 
 those who have a cultivated literary palate." — Dispatch, Richmond, Va. 
 
 "... is one of the best specimens of Edna Lyall's talent for telling a good story 
 in engaging style. . . . The reader's attention is held throughout." 
 
 — Press, Philadelphia. 
 
 "There is much in this book to commend it. It is original and has great activity. 
 . . . Miss Lyall possesses literary talent, and her style is clear, and, to one unfamiliar 
 with her writings, this latest production will be a delightful treat. The reader will put it 
 down delighted with the story, refreshed by the study of the merits and faults of its charac« 
 ters, and cogitating upon the great events which, during the making of English history, 
 followed quickly one upon another toward the close of the seventeenth century." 
 
 — Picayune, New Orleans. 
 
 LONGMANS, GEEEN, & CO., 91-93 FIFTH AVE, NEW TOEK.
 
 THE PRINCESS DESIREE 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 By CLEMENTINA BLACK 
 
 AUTHOR OF "an AGITATOR," " MISS FALKLAND," ETC. 
 
 With 8 Full-page Illustrations by John Williamson 
 l2mo, Linen Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25 
 
 "The reader who begins this very fascinating tale will feel bound to finish it. . 
 . . . The story runs naturally in a highly romantic vein. It is, however, so brightly 
 and choicely written and is so interestiTig throughout, as to be to the reader a source 
 of real delight."— Aberdeen Daily Fuee Press. 
 
 " Miss Black may be congratulated on achieving a distinct success and furnishing 
 a thoroughly enjoyable tale. — Athen.el.m, London. 
 
 " Is a romantic story of the adventures of the heiress to a pretty German princi- 
 pality. It has a pure love story, and is written with spirit."— Outlook, New York. 
 
 " There is plenty of intrigue and royal family affairs, and those who love a his- 
 torical novel will enjoy this one. It has the air of being founded on facts." — Com- 
 mercial Tribune, Cincinn.vti. 
 
 " Once in a while there appears a novel that, without manifesting any special 
 originality, yet leaves with its reader a sense of satisfaction that many more im- 
 portant works fail to give. Such a story is the " Princess Dcsircc. — Bt kfalo 
 Express. 
 
 "The story is thoroughly satisfactory, it contains little sentiment but many inter- 
 esting situations, and much forceful action. It is told with a directness that attracts 
 in these busy days and is an admirable picture of French and German intrigue. It is 
 well illustrated and bound."— Boston Ti.mes. 
 
 "This readable novel may.be read at a sitting with unflagging In- 
 terest." — Public Ledger, Philadelphia. 
 
 " The plot is exceedingly well managed, in spite of its demands upon the credulitv 
 of the reader, and the author's style is terse, clear cut, and piquant. The eight full- 
 page illustrations by John Williamson are cleverly done." — Boston Beacon. 
 
 "A brightly written story, full of unusual adventure of a quasi-poliiii-.il n:uiirr, 
 . . . Is entertaining reading throughout." — Press, Philadelphia. 
 
 "A vivacious novel." — Public Opinion, New York. 
 
 " It is amusing in the picture it gives of the sudden change of an ardent RipuMi- 
 can, through love for one of the royal race, to a Monarchist. There is a pleasant 
 freshness of tone about it, and Ludovic De Sainte is quite as worthy of tlie Gnind 
 Duchess of Felsenheim as was Rudolph of the Princess Fluvia. The political intrigue 
 is simple yet very exciting and elfe ive. There is no effort at high tragedy, hut the 
 plot is simply and skillfully developed and holds i iterest well. . . . Altogether, it 
 IS a brave story, and you will like to read it." — Nassau Literarv Maga/inb, FmNC«- 
 TON, N. J. 
 
 "The Princess Ddsirde .... will win universal praise. It is cue 'i" ilie 
 most charming love stories that have been published of late years, pure an ' 
 reminding us, but by no means as a servile imitation, of another lady. : 
 'Princess Osra' whose heart, or want of heart, was so ably dcscri 
 Anthony Hope. —Star, Montreal. 
 
 " Except that i!'.ere is nothing in it that is either supernatural or essentially im- 
 probable, it has much of the charm of a fairy tale. The stvlc is pure and the story 
 dramatic with the additional attraction of eight or ten well executed illustrations.— 
 San Francisco Chronicle. 
 
 " There is enough exciting interest in ' The Princess D^irdc * to make one wish 
 
 to read it through as soon as possible There is an undesirable charm In 
 
 the narrative." — New York Co.mmercial Advertiser. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN & CO., 91-03 FIFTH AVE., NEW YORK
 
 JOAN HASTE. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 By II. RIUER HAGGARD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "'she," '' HF.ART OF THF. WORLD," "THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST," ETC., ETC. 
 
 With 20 full-page Illustrations by F. S. Wilson. 
 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 " It is less adventurous in theme, the tone is more quiet, and the manner more 
 in keeping with the so-called realistic order of fiction than anything- Mr. Haggard has 
 heretofore published. ' Joan Haste ' is by far the most earnest, and in many ways the 
 most impressive work of Mr. Haggard's that has yet been printed. The insight into 
 character which it displays is almost invariably keen and irae. Every personality in 
 the story is fully alive, and individual traits of thought and action are revealed little 
 by little as the narrative progresses, until they stand forth as definite and consistent 
 creations." — The Boston Be.\con. 
 
 " All the strong and striking peculiarities that have made Mr. Haggard's earlier 
 works so deservedly popular are repeated here in a new spirit. Not only that, but 
 his literary execution shows an enlarged skill and betrays the master hand of self- 
 restrairkt that indicate maturity of power. His conception of character is improved by 
 the elimination of all crudeness and haste, and his delineations are consequently closer 
 to life. One is reminded strongly of Dickens in his admirable drawing of minor char- 
 acters. Mrs. Bird is such a character. . . . The illustrations of the book are nu- 
 merous and strikingly good. Many of the scenes are intensely dramatic, and move the 
 feelings to the higher pitch. . . . Even in the little concerns of the story the wealth 
 of its imagination appears, glowing in the warmth of its unstinted creations. There is 
 a splendor in his description, a weird spirit in his imagery, a marvelous variety of 
 detail, and at all points a creative force that give a perpetual freshness and newness to 
 the fiction to which he gives his powers. To take up one of his fascinating books is 
 to finish it. and this story of " Joan Haste ' is not to be outdone by the best of them all. 
 The strength, emphasis, and vigor of his style as well as of his treatment is to be 
 credited to none but superior gifts and powers. , . . ' Joan Haste ' will become 
 the favorite of everybody." — Boston Courier. 
 
 " Mr. Haggard's new story is a sound and pleasing example of modern English 
 fiction ... a book worth reading. ... Its personages are many and well 
 contrasted, and all reasonably human and interesting." — New York Times. 
 
 " In this pretty, pathetic story Mr. Haggard has lost none of his true art. . . . 
 In every respect 'Joan Haste' contains masterly literary work of which Mr. Haggard 
 has been deemed incapable by some of his forriier critics. Certainly no one will call 
 his latest book weak or uninteresting, while thousands who enjoy a well-told story of 
 tragic, but true love, will pronounce 'Joan Haste' a better piece of work than Mr. 
 Haggard's stories of adventure." — Boston Advertiser. 
 
 " This story is full of startling incidents. It is intensely interesting." 
 
 — Cleveland Gazette. 
 
 " The plot thickens with the growth of the story, which is one of uncommon interest 
 and pathos. The book has the advantage of the original illustrations." 
 
 — Cleveland World. 
 
 '"Joan Haste' is really a good deal more than the ordinary novel of English 
 country life. It is the best thing Haggard has done. There is some character sketch- 
 ing in it that is equal to anything of this kind we have had recently." 
 
 — Courier, Lincoln, Neb. 
 
 " In this unwonted field he has done well. 'Joan Haste ' is so far ahead of his for- 
 mer works that it will surprise even those who have had most confidence in his ability. 
 
 To those who read Thomas Hardy's ' Tess of the D'Urbervilles ' the atmosphere 
 and incidents of 'Joan Haste ' will seem familiar. It is written along much the same 
 lines, and in this particular it might be accused of a lack of originality ; but Haggard 
 ha'^come dangerously close to beating Hardy in his own field. Hardy's coarseness is 
 missing, but Hardy's power is excelled." — Munsev's Magazine. 
 
 LOIJGMANS, GEEEN, & CO.. 91-93 PIFTH AVENUE, NEW YOEE.
 
 HEART OF THE WORLD- 
 
 a story of mexican adventure. 
 By H. rider haggard, 
 
 MTTHOR OF '* SHE," "moNTEZUMVs DAUGHTER," "tHK FBOPLU OF THK MIST," «TC. 
 
 With 13 fuM-pagre Illustrations by Amy Sawyer 
 12mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 " The adventures of Ignnfio and his white friend will compare fir strangeness with iny 
 that the writer has iniaginf-d. And the invention of the city and p'.ov'.e of the htarl. of the 
 secret order, with its ritual and history, and the unforeseen crisis ol the lale, shows that the 
 quality that most distinguishes the aulhor's former works is still his in ahiindnnce. . . . 
 The tale as a whole is so effective that we willingly overlook its imfrobabdity, and so ni'Vel 
 that even those who have read all of Rider Haggard's former works will still find somethnig 
 surprismg in this." — The Ckitic. 
 
 " Here are strange adventures and wonderful heroisms. The scene is laid in Mexico. 
 The story rehearses the adventures of an athletic Englishman who loves and weds an 
 Indian princess. There are marvelous descriptions of the ' City of the Heart,' a mysteri- 
 ous town hemmed in by swamps and unknown mountains." 
 
 — COMMEKCIAL ADVERTISER, Nkw YokK. 
 
 " Has a rare fascination, and in using that theme Mr. Haggard has not only hit upon 
 a story of peculiar charm, but he has also wrought out a story original and dilishtful 10 
 even the most jaded reader of the novel of incident." — Advf.ktiskk, Boston. 
 
 "It is a fascinating tale, and the reader will not want to put the book down till he hat 
 
 read the last word." — Picayune, New Okleans. 
 
 " The lovers of Rider Haggard's glowing works have no reason to complain of hit latest 
 book. . . . The story is, all in all, one of the most entertaining of the author's whole 
 list." — Travrllkr, Hoston. 
 
 " In its splendor of description, weirdncss of imagery, its astonishing variety of detail. 
 and the love story which blends with history and fantasy, the book without doubt is a 
 creation distinct from previous tales. Maya, the I.ady of the Heart, is an ideal character. 
 . . . Interest is sustained throughout." — Post, Chicago. 
 
 "The success of Mr. Haggard's stories consists in the spirit of adventure which nin» 
 through them, in their rapid succession of incidents, in the bustle which animates their 
 characters, and in the trying situations in which they are pl.iced. ... this last Hory 
 . . . introduces his readers ... to a comparatively new field of fiction in the evolu- 
 tion of an ancient Aztec tradition concerning the concealed (.xistcnce of a wonderful Golden 
 City. . . ." — Mail and Express, New York. 
 
 "A thrilling story of adventure in Mexico. It is doubtful if he has surpas-ed in vivid 
 coloring his delineation of the character of 'Maya.' This work is really a notable addition 
 to the great body of romance with which his name is associated." — Prhss Phh.adhV»HIa. 
 
 " This romance is really one of the best he has given us."— Times, Philapf.i ruiA. 
 
 " When the love of romance shall die in the human heart we may bid farewell to all that 
 is best in fiction. ... In this story we have the same reckless dash of imaisination and 
 the same gorgeous profusion of barbaric scenes and startling adventure which have always 
 characterized Mr. Haggard's works.' — Indi:phnurnt, Nhw Yokk. 
 
 " His latest, and one of his most powerful stories. It shows the same trenchant. eflTctlive 
 way of dealing with his story ; and the same power in open, startling siltialion*. It wdl 
 jive the reader some new idea of that ancient people, the Aztecs, as well as of ih* more mod- 
 am Mexicans. It is as strong as ' King Solomon's Mines.' '' — TiMis. HakikoKk. 
 
 LONGMANS, GEEEN, & 00., 91-93 PIETH AVE., NEW YOKI.
 
 SWALLOW 
 
 A STORY OF THE GREAT TREK 
 By H. rider haggard 
 
 AUTHOR OF "she," " KING SOLOMOn's MINES," " JOAN HASTE," " THE WIZARD," ETC, ETC 
 
 With 12 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, Cloth, 
 Ornamental, $1.50 
 
 " The hand of the author of ' She ' has not lost its cunning. Indeed, we think it 
 will be the verdict of most readers of 'Swallow ' that, great as Conan Doyle and 
 Stanley Weyman are in the field of romance, in the art of sheer, unadulterated story- 
 telling. Rider Haggard is the master of them all. 'Swallow 'is an African story, a 
 tale of the Boers and Kaffirs and Zulus, and it grips the attention of the reader from 
 the very beginning and holds it steadily to the end. The tale is told by an old Boer 
 woman, ' the Vrouw Botmar,' and it is a masterpiece of narration. . . . The finest 
 portrait of all is that of the little Kaffir witch doctoress, Sihamba, who will live in the 
 reader's memory long after he has closed the book, and who is a worthy companion of 
 the great Umslopogaas himself. Altogether ' Swallow ' is a remarkable romance." 
 
 — Charleston News. 
 
 " It is a slashing, dashing . . . romance of Boers and Kaffirs in South Africa that 
 Rider Haggard has given his admirers under the title, ' Swallow.' The title is the Kaffir 
 name for the charming Boer maiden, Suzanne Boimar. . . 'Swallow' is one of 
 
 those utterly impossible and yet altogether engrossing tales that Rider Haggard knows 
 so well how to weave. He is always at best among the kloofs and kopjes of South 
 Africa, and his many admirers will be delighted to know that he has returned to the 
 field of his early successes." — Chicago Tribune. 
 
 "The Englishman's long pursuit of his bride ; the manner in which she escaped 
 from Swart Piet only to encounter as great perils in her wanderings, and how she 
 dwelt among savages for two years, with Sihamba, the little witch doctoress and ruler 
 of the Tribe of the Mountains, gives Mr. Haggarci ample opportunity to display his 
 ingenuity as a plot-maker, and illustrates his wonderlul powers of dramatic narration. 
 The story is crowded with incident leading up to the tiagic encounter on the cliff 
 between Ralph and Swart Piet and the torture and death of Sihamba. I.overs of the 
 wild and adventurous, subtly touched with the supernatural, will find 'Swallow' 
 quite to their liking." —Detroit Free Press. 
 
 " A thrilling tale, brimming over with adventure, and full of the savage loves and 
 hates and fightings of uncivilized peoples. ... In such stories of wild adventure 
 Rider Haggard has no equal, and ' Swallow ' will be read with the unflagging interest 
 we have given to the author's other romances." — Picayune, New Orleans, La. 
 
 " It is justly considered one of the very best of this author's productions. ... It 
 is unquestionably a very entertaining story of Boer life." — Hartford Post. 
 
 " A story, which once begun, must be read to the end.'' — New York Tribune. 
 
 " The interest grows as one goes on, and at the close it is at least an open question 
 whether he has ever done a better piece of work. ... it may safely be said that 
 few who begin the story will fail to read on with growing interest to the end, and that 
 most will part from the characters with genuine regret."— Hartfoud Times. 
 
 " One of the things Rider Haggard Can always contrive to do is to tell a thrilling 
 tale, to keep his readers trembling on the verge of discovery or torn with anxiety until 
 the very last line of the book. His happy hunting-ground is South Africa, and there is 
 located ' Swallow,' than which few of his romances have been better reading. We 
 find it preferable, for our own part, to such an extravaganza as 'She,' since it deals 
 with people in whom it is possible to take a more definite interest than in savages oi 
 magicians. . . . A thrilling and unusual story."— Milwaukee Sentinel. 
 
 " Once more the African wizard has waved his enchanted wand and conjured out 
 of the mysterious Dark Continent another fascinating romance. ... It is ques- 
 tionable if the author has ever produced a story in all respects better than this." 
 
 — Philadelphia Press. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & 00., 91-93 riPTH AVENUE, NEW YORK.
 
 THE CHEVALIER D'AURIAC. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 By S. LEVETT YEATS. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the HONOUR OF SAVKLLI," ETC., ETC. 
 
 1 2mo, cloth, ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 " The story is full of action, it is alive from cover to cover, and is so compact with thrill- 
 ing adventure that there is no room for a dull page. The chevalier tells his own story, but 
 he is the most charming of egoists. He wins our sympathies from the outset by his boyish 
 naivete, his downright manliness and bravery. . . . Not only has Mr. Yeats written an 
 ejccellent tale of adventure, but he has shown a close study of character which does not bor- 
 row merely from the trappings of historical actors, but which denotes a keen knowledge of 
 human nature, and a shrewd insight into the workings of human motives. . . . The 
 fashion of the period is kept well in mind, the stvle of writing has just that touch of old- 
 fashioned formality which serves to veil the past from the present, and to throw the lights 
 and shadows into a harmony of tone. . . . The work has liierarj- quality of a genuine 
 sort in it, which raises it above a numerous host of its fellows in kind. 
 
 — BooK.MAN, New York. 
 
 "... A story of Huguenot days, brim full of action that takes shape in plots, sud. 
 den surprises, fierce encounters, and cunning intrigues. The author is so saturated with the 
 times of which he writes that the story is realism itself. . . . The slor>' is brilliant and 
 thrilling, and whoever sits down to give it attention will reach the last page with regret." 
 
 — Gloue, Bosto.n. 
 
 "... A tale of more than usual interest and of genuine liter.-ry merit . . . 
 The characters and scenes in a sense seem far removed, yet they live in our hearts and seem 
 contemporaneous through the skill and philosophic treatment of the author. Those men and 
 women seem akin to us; they are flesh and blood, and are impelled by human nKitive«ias we 
 are. One cannot follow the fortunes of this hero without fcelmg refreshed and bencfiicd." 
 
 — Globe-Democrat, St. Loiis. 
 
 "A book that may be recommended to all those who appreciate a good, hearty, rollicking 
 story of adventure, with lots of fierce fighting and a proper proportion of love-making. . . . 
 There is in his novel no more history than is necessary, and no tedious detail ; it is a story 
 inspired by, but not slavishly followmg, history. . . . The book is full of incident, and 
 from the first chapter to the last the action never flags. ... In the Chevalier the authur 
 has conceived a sympathetic character, for d'Auriac is more human and less of a puppet than 
 most heroes of historical novels, and consequently there are few readers who will nut find en- 
 joyment in the story of his thrilling adventures. . . . This Ixiok should be read by all 
 who love a good story of adventures. There is not a dull page in it." — New York Sun. 
 
 "A capital story of the Dumas- Weyman order. . . . The first chapters bring one 
 right into the thick of the ston% and from thence on the interest is unflagging. The Cheva- 
 lier himself is an admirably 'studied character, whose slraigliifurwardness and sitnplicity, 
 bravery, and impulsive and reckless chivalry, win the reader's svinpathy. D'Auriac has 
 something of the intense vitality of Dumas's heroes, and the delightful Iniprubabililie* through 
 which he passes so invincibly have a certain human quality which renders them nkin to our 
 day. Mr. Levett Yeats has done better in this book than ui anything else he has written." 
 
 — PlCAVLNE, Nl W DkI.KANS. 
 
 " The interest in the story does not la^ for an instant ; all is life and action. The pict- 
 uresque historical setting is admirably pamted, and the ch.iracters are skilfully drawn, cspc- 
 lially that of the king, a true monarch, a brave soldier, and a gentleman. '1 he Chcvahcr u 
 the typical hero of romance, fearing nothing save a stain on his honor, and with such a hero 
 there can not but be vigor and excitement in cvcr>' page of the stury." 
 
 —Mail and P-xpress, New \ ork. 
 
 " As a story of adventure, pure and simple, after the type originally seen in Duroat % 
 'Three Musketeers," the book is well worthy of high praise.' — C)iil(K)K, New York. 
 
 " We find all the fascination of medieval France, which have made Mr. Wcyman'-i »toric» 
 such general favorites. ... We do not see how any intelligent reader can take il up 
 without keen enjoyment."— Living Church, Chicago. 
 
 LONGMATJS, GREEN, & CO., 91-93 FIFTH AVE., NEW YOEK.
 
 THE HEART OF DENISE 
 
 and other tales. 
 By S. LEVETT-YEATS. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the CHEVALIER d'aURIAC," " THE HONOUR OF SAVEI.LI," ETC. 
 
 With Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth, ornamental, $1.25. 
 
 "The author of the fascinating; and brilliant story of 'The Chevalier d'Auriac' 
 knows the main roads and bypaths of the sixteenth century well, and in his latest 
 essay in romance he catclies the spirit of the times he portrays. With a few sugges- 
 tive touches a brilliant, somewhat self-willed beauty of the court is sketched inDenise, 
 whose flirtations, innocent enough upon her part, with the young but unscrupulous 
 Marquis de Clermont, lead to a peremptory command on the part of the King for her 
 marriage, at three hours' notice, to Blaise de Lorgnac. . . . 
 
 The story which gives the title to the book occupies something over a third of the 
 volume. The remainder is a collection oi eight short stories, most of which are some- 
 what melodramatic in character, but all are brilliantly told," 
 
 — Chicago Tribune. 
 
 "A good romantic story, graphically told." 
 
 —New York World. 
 
 "A brief, rapid story of those picturesque days when the Flying Squadron fluttered 
 its silken sails at the gay French court of which Catherine de Medici was the ruling 
 spirit— such is 'The Heart of Denise,' which may be praised as more in the style of 
 'The House of the Wolf or 'A Gentleman of France ' than anything Mr. Weyman is 
 writing nowadays." — Sentinel, Milwaukee, Wis. 
 
 "A capital love story. . . . It is a pleasant story most pleasantly told. The 
 other stories in the book are of equal interest ; they are told with admirable skill and 
 most excellent art." — Saturday Evening Gazette, Boston. 
 
 " We find more varieties of talent than we remember in his earlier novels. ' The 
 Chevalier d'Auriac ' and 'The Honour of Savelli,' ' The Heart of Denise ' and 'The 
 Captain Moratti's Last Affair' resemble these in the romantic use of the historical 
 material of which they are composed ; the other seven display a wider range of in- 
 vention in different directions. Taken as a whole, the stories here are considerably 
 above the average stories of better-known writers than Mr. Yeats." 
 
 — Mail and Express. 
 
 " All of them are bright, crisp and taking — generally weird and fanciful, but told 
 with an easy and fluent swing which imparts a pleasant flavor to the most inconse- 
 quential of their details." — San Francisco Chroniclb. 
 
 "There are many well-told adventures .... with a defined originality and 
 manner." ^Baltimore Sun. 
 
 " Mr. Yeats writes well ; in his Indian tales there is distinct touch of cleverness. 
 The story that ^nves its name to the book is Weyman all over. There is a charming, 
 if shrewish, heroine, a misjudged hero, a courtly villain, and the scene is laid in the 
 France of the Medicis." — Journal, Puovidence, R.I. 
 
 " The story of Denise is interesting and at times highly dramatic," 
 
 — St. Louis Republic 
 
 " He has romance and pretty turn for dramatic episodes. . . . ' The Captain 
 Moratti's Last Affair' is a delightful tale of Southern villainy, and drama, and the 
 longest story in the book, 'The Heart of Denise, ' justifies its length by its romantic 
 and thrilling character. The Indian tales show that while Mr. Yeats is far below Mr. 
 Kipling in the treatment of the material to be found among the natives, he is at any 
 rate clever and readable. His vignette of landscape are drawn with special grace." 
 
 — N, Y. Tribune. 
 
 LONGMANS. GREEN, & 00., 91-93 riETH AVENUE, NEW TOKK.
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW.
 
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